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THE VOICE FROM THE VOID 






Speak!” he urged eagerly. “Tell me what has happened 




I 



/ 

THE 

VOICE FROM THE VOID 

The Great Wireless Mystery 


BY 

WILLIAM I^,E QUEUX ' 

Member of the Institute of Radio Engineers 
AUTHOR “mademoiselle OF MONTE CARLO” 





> ) > 

) 


<) 

) 


NEW YORK 

THE MACAULAY COMPANY 




Copyright, 1933, 

By the MACAULAY COMPANY 




G 


PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. 







CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

Concerns a Stranger . 

PAGE 

9 

11 . 

The Rector’s Secret Vistor . 

20 

III. 

Which Contains Another Mys¬ 



tery . 

33 

IV. 

Lost Days. 

44 

V. 

Through the Ether 

54 

VI. 

Mists of Memory .... 

1 

65 

VII. 

The Girl Named Edna . 

75 

VIII. 

Fears and Surprises 

87 

IX. 

The Spider’s Nest .... 

99 

X. 

What Mr. Sandys Knew 

no 

XL 

The House of Mystery . 

123 

XII. 

Rex Rutherford’s Prophecy . 

135 

XIII. 

The Hidden Ear .... 

146 

XIV. 

The Key to a Fortune . 

158 

XV. 

The Master-Stroke 

169 

XVI. 

The Light of Love 

179 

XVII. 

The Ears of the Blind . 

191 

XVIII. 

Wiles of the Wicked 

204 




VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XIX. 

A Matter of Urgency . 

PAGE 

215 

XX. 

Concerns the Concession 

229 

XXL 

The Blow. 

237 

XXII. 

By Stroke of the Pen . 

246 

XXIII. 

A Caller at the Rectory 

253 

XXIV. 

Rutherford Makes a Proposition 

261 

XXV. 

The Sacrifice. 

274 

XXVI. 

The Unknown Hand . 

288 

XXVII. 

The Death-Trap .... 

298 - 

XXVIII. 

A Race for Life 

307 

XXIX. 

The Coup . . . . ^ 

314 


V 


THE VOICE FROM THE VOID 



THE 

VOICE FROM THE VOID 


CHAPTER I 

CONCERNS A STRANGER 

‘'Yes! certain it was Gordon Gray—the 

man whose face I can never forget, and whom I 
could identify among a million I Gordon Gray! 
Returned from the dead !” 

The white-haired rector, the Reverend Norton 
Homfray, a tall, sparely-built man of sixty-five, pursed 
his lips and drew a long breath. He was evidently 
greatly upset. 

He had taken off his surplice in the vestry after 
evening service, and now stood motionless against the 
old rood-screen gazing into the cavernous darkness of 
the empty Norman church. 

The congregation had dispersed into the winter 
darkness, wandering slowly and piously through the 
churchyard and out by the old lich-gate and down 
the hill, and old Morley, the verger, had already turned 
out the lights. 

“ Yes,” murmured the old clergyman, “ he sat 
in the last pew yonder listening to me as I 

9 


10 The Voice from the Void 


preached! Surely he cannot have risen from the 
grave, for I heard that he died at the Waldorf- 
Astoria in New York eighteen months ago! For¬ 
get him? Ah!” he sighed. “How can I ever 
forget? Why is he here in Little Farncombe, I 
wonder ? ” 

For a few moments he remained motionless in the 
silent gloom of the historic old church, with its 
beautiful Norman arches so admired by archaeol¬ 
ogists from all parts of the country. The stillness 
was broken only by the creaking of old Morley’s Sun¬ 
day boots and the slow deep tick of the clock in the 
belfry. 

Then, at last, he buttoned his overcoat and made 
his way out into the windy December night, passing 
round the churchyard and entering the grounds of 
his quiet old-world, ivy-clad rectory, a sixteenth cen¬ 
tury house too large for his needs and too expensive 
for his slender pocket. 

Norton Horn fray was a fine type of country rector, 
a theological scholar and highly popular with all in 
his rural parish. 

As a young man at Balliol he had taken high 
honours, and when a curate at Durham he had mar¬ 
ried. After twenty-seven years of married happiness 
Mrs. Homfray had died four years ago leaving one 
son, Roderick, a heavy-jawed young fellow, now 
twenty-six. Mr. Homfray had been utterly crushed 
by his wife’s death, and his house was now conducted 
by Mrs. Bentley, a deaf old woman with a high- 
pitched voice. 

When the latter, in order to make up the fire, came 


Concerns a Stranger ii 

into the long old dining-room, a heavily-furnished 
apartment with several old portraits on the walls and 
French windows across which heavy dark-green 
curtains were drawn, she found Mr. Homfray sit¬ 
ting beside the glowing logs staring straight at the 
embers. 

Of late he had been unusually silent and morose. 
Therefore she put on a couple of logs and left the 
room without speaking. 

When she had closed the door the old man, 
whose strong face was thrown into bold relief by 
the fitful light of the fire, stirred uneasily in 
a manner that showed him to be highly nervous and 
anxious. 

Roddy must never know! Roddy must never 
know — never!’’ he kept whispering to himself. 

And the light of the blazing logs rose and fell, 
illuminating his fine old face, the countenance of an 
honest, upright man. 

“ No! ” he murmured to himself, too agitated even 
to enjoy his pipe which he always smoked as relaxa¬ 
tion after preaching his sermon. ‘‘No, I am not 
mistaken! Gordon Gray is still in the flesh I But 
why should he come here, as though risen from the 
grave? I saw him come in after the service had 
commenced. He sat there staring straight at me— 
staring as though in evil triumph. Why? What can 
it mean ? ” 

And the thin, white-haired man lapsed into silence 
again, still staring into the blazing logs, the light 
from which danced about the long dining-room. On 
a little mahogany side-table near where the rector 


12 The Voice from the Void 


was seated stood a small tin tobacco box attached 
by a cord to a pair of wireless telephones, and also 
to a thick, rubber-covered wire which ran to the 
window and passed out to the garden. Roddy Horn- 
fray, the rector’s son, was a young mining engineer, 
and also an enthusiastic wireless amateur. In an 
adjoining room he had a very fine wireless set, most 
of which he had constructed himself, but the little 
tobacco box was a freak ” crystal-receiver set which 
he could carry in his pocket, together with the tele¬ 
phones, and by using a little coil of wire, also easily 
carried—which he could stretch anywhere as an aerial 
•—he could listen to any of the high-power stations 
such as Paris, Leafield, Carnarvon, Nantes or Bor¬ 
deaux. It was a remarkably sensitive little piece of 
apparatus, ships and “ spark ” stations being also re¬ 
ceived with peculiar clearness. That wonderful little 
contrivance had been described in several of the jour¬ 
nals devoted to the science of radio, together with 
photographs, and had caused a sensation. 

As the old clergyman’s eyes fell upon it 
he drew a long breath, and then whispered to 
himself: 

Poor Roddy! If he knew! Ah! If he knew! 
But he must never know the truth. It would break 
his heart, poor boy! ” 

Sight of the stranger who had sat alone in the 
pew at the back of the church had brought to him 
a flood of bitter memories, haunting recollections of 
a closed page in his history—one that he never dared 
reopen. 

Meanwhile Roddy Homfray, a tall, dark-haired. 


Concerns a Stranger 13 

clean-limbed fellow who, though young, had made 
several mining expeditions in Brazil and Peru as 
assistant to a well-known engineer, had left the church 
after service and walked down the hill towards the 
village. Recently he had been in Peru for five months, 
and had only returned a week ago and again taken 
up his hobby of wireless. 

Three days before, while walking down the road 
from Little Farncombe into Haslemere to take train 
to London, he had overtaken an extremely dainty 
chestnut-haired girl, petite and full of charm, warmly 
clad in rich furs. She was evidently a lady. With 
her was a black toy pom which ran yapping at Roddy, 
as was its nature. 

“ Tweedles! Come here,” she cried, and hav¬ 
ing called off her pet she in a sweet refined voice 
apologized. Roddy laughed, assuring her that he 
was not in the least alarmed, and then they walked 
the remainder of the way side by side, chatting 
about the picturesqueness of the Surrey hills, until 
at last he lifted his hat and left her. She did 
not look more than seventeen, though he afterwards 
found that she was twenty. He had become 
fascinated by her extreme beauty, by her manner, 
and her inexpressible grace and charm, and as he sat 
in the express rushing towards London her sweet 
oval face and deep violet eyes arose time after 
time before him. 

On that Sunday morning he had called upon his 
old friend Hubert Denton, the village doctor, and 
while smoking before the fire in the low-pitched sitting- 


14 The Voice from the Void 

room, he had described his meeting with the fair 
stranger. 

Oh! That’s Elma Sandys,” replied the doctor, a 
thick-set man of about forty-five. 

What ? The daughter of Mr. Purcell Sandys 
who has just bought Farncombe Towers?” asked 
Roddy in surprise. 

“Yes. As I dare say you know, Purcell Sandys 
is a well-known financier in the City and has a house 
in Park Lane,” said the doctor. “ A few months ago 
he bought the Towers and the great estates, includ¬ 
ing three villages with their advowsons, from the Earl 
of Farncombe.” 

“ He must be immensely rich,” remarked Roddy 
reflectively. 

“ Yes, no doubt. He is a widower and Elma 
is his only daughter. She looks only a child. I 
was asked to dinner at the Towers a fortnight ago, 
and I found both father and daughter charming— 
the girl especially so. Since leaving school her father 
has taken her travelling quite a lot. Last winter they 
spent in Egypt.” 

Roddy listened to his description of the dinner¬ 
party. Then he said: 

“ Poor Lord Farncombe! I’m sorry he had to 
sell the place. He is a real good type of the 
British nobility. It seems .nothing short of vandal¬ 
ism that the historic houses of our peers should 
pass into the hands of the magnates of com¬ 
merce.” 

“ I quite agree. Lord Farncombe has gone to 
America, I believe. They say he was broken-hearted 


15 


Concerns a Stranger 


at being compelled to sell the house which his ancestors 
had held for five centuries/’ 


‘‘Mr. Sandys’ daughter is a very charming girl,” 
■Roddy said. ’ 

Very. She acts as hostess for her father. 
Mrs. Sandys died some years ago, I understand,” 
replied the doctor. “Sandys is spending an enor¬ 
mous sum in improving the Towers, putting in a 
new electrical plant and building a new range of 

glass-houses. Halton, the builder, was tellinsr me 
of it.” ^ 


But Roddy’s thoughts were afar. He was thinking 
of the chic, dainty little eirl at whose side he had 
walked down to Haslemere, little dreaming that she 
was the daughter of the man who had purchased the 
whole Farncombe estates, including the living which 
his father held. 

That night, after church, he decided to stroll 
down through the village and out to the house 

of an old retired colonel, who was a friend of his 
father. 

The new moon was shining, but the sky was 
growing dull and overcast. He had lingered until 
all the congregation had passed out of the old 
churchyard, and following them down the hill, 
he turned to the left at the Market Cross, where he 
overtook a small, fur-clad female figure, whom he 
at once recognized by the light of the moon, which 
had reappeared from a bank of cloud, as that of 
Elma Sandys. 

She, too, recognized him as he raised his hat and 
joined her. 


i6 The Voice from the Void 

“ We are hardly strangers, Mr. Homfray,” she ex- 
claimed in her sweet musical voice. “ Since we met 
the other day I learned who you are.’* 

‘‘May I walk with you?*’ he asked, laughing. 
“You are going home, I suppose, and it’s lonely be¬ 
yond the bridge.” 

“ You’re really awfully kind,” she said. “ I’ve just 
been taking some chicken broth the cook made 
for a poor old lady named Bamford. Do you know 
her ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, poor old Betty Bamford! She’s been 
bedridden for years, poor old woman,” replied Roddy. 
“ My mother used to go and see her. It certainly 
is good of you to look after her. Lady Farn- 
combe also used to be very kind to her. I’ve heard my 
father say.’l 

And as they sauntered slowly along over the ancient 
moss-grown bridge and down the road where the 
bare trees met overhead, they chatted on merrily as 
young people will chat. 

Roddy Homfray found her a delightful com¬ 
panion. He had on their first meeting believed 
her to be a visitor in the locality, for many people 
came from London to Little Farncombe on 
account of its picturesque surroundings, and its fine 
views across to the Hog’s Back and over in the 
direction of Petersfield. But he had been disap¬ 
pointed to find that she was the only daughter of 
Purcell Sandys, the millionaire purchaser of the 
Farncombe estates. 

From the moment her father had entered 
possession of the Towers, the magnificent Tudor 


Concerns a Stranger 17 

mansion which had been the home of the Farn- 
combes, Elma had interested herself in the wel¬ 
fare of the village and had, with the assist¬ 
ance of two lady residents, sought out the poor. Her 
father, unlike most financiers, was a straightfor¬ 
ward, upright, honest man who believed in giving 
charity in secret where it was needed. In this 
Elma assisted him, hence the new owner had 
already become popular in the neighbourhood, though, 
naturally, great sympathy was felt on all sides for 
the old earl who had been compelled to j>art with his 
estates. 

As Roddy walked at Elma’s side down the dark, 
lonely road, the girl suddenly said: 

It’s really awfully good of you to come with me 
all this way, Mr. Horn fray. I expected to be home 
earlier, but the poor old lady was alone and begged 
me to stay a little longer. I was surprised when I 
saw how dark it had grown.” 

“I assure you that it is a pleasure,” he declared 
briefly. There was regret in his heart that she 
was what she was. From the very first moment 
they had met, when little Tweedles had bristled 
his black hair and barked at him, he had fallen 
in love with her. Thoughts of her obsessed him, 
and her face rose ever before him. But as they 
walked together he knew that the diflerence in 
their stations would ever be a barrier between 
them. He was poor and could never aspire to 
her hand. 

I hear you have just returned from abroad,” she 
remarked. 


i8 The Voice from the Void 

Yes. I sailed from Buenos Ayres six weeks ago/' 
he replied. “ I’m a mining engineer, and we’ve been 
prospecting in the Andes.” 

'‘And were you successful?” 

" Fortunately, yes. But I expect to go away again 
very soon—that is, if I can obtain what I 
want, namely, a concession from the Moorish 
Government to prospect for emeralds beyond the 
Atlas Mountains. According to records left by the 
ancients there is a rich deposit of emeralds in 
the Wad Sus district, and I am hoping to be able 
to discover it.” 

“How exciting! Fancy discovering emeralds!” 

Roddy laughed, and replied: 

“ The probability is that I shall fail. But if I get 
the concession I shall do my best.” 

“ I certainly wish you every good luck,” the 
girl said. ‘‘It must be awfully exciting to go 
prospecting. I suppose you meet with all sorts of 
adventures ? ” 

“ Oh 1 We have curious experiences some¬ 
times,” he said lightly, and then he went on to 
describe a very narrow escape from drowning he 
had had once while at work on the bank of the 
Amazon. 

On her part, she told him she was delighted with 
Farncombe. 

“Fm tired of the rush of life in London,” she 
said. “ My father is compelled to entertain a great 
deal at Park Lane, and I have to be hostess. But 
it is so very pleasant to live here in the country and 
have one’s friends down from town. We had a big 


Concerns a Stranger 19 

house-party last week and had a ripping time. We 
shall have a shooting-party next week, and another 
the week after.’’ 

Roddy was silent for a few moments, for they were 
already in the avenue and in sight of the lights of 
the great mansion. 

I had better leave you here. Miss Sandys,” he 
said, with undisguised regret. “ And if you are to 
be so busy I fear I shall not have the pleasure of meet¬ 
ing you again before I go.” 

Then as he raised his hat, she replied cheerily: 

“ Perhaps we may meet again very soon. Who 
knows ? Thanks ever so much, Mr. Homfray. It was 
very good of you to come all this way. Good-night! ’’ 

And she turned and left him. 


CHAPTER II 


THE rector’s secret VISITOR 

While Roddy Homfray had been strolling at Elma’s 
side, his father had still sat, gloomy and thoughtful, 
in the firelight at the Rectory. 

The light evening meal which the rector always 
took on Sunday evening had been placed upon the 
table by old Mrs. Bentley, who, after lighting the gas, 
had retired to her part of the rambling house. But 
the food had remained untouched. 

The rector had sat nearly half an hour in the 
silence of the long, old room with its low-pitched 
ceiling and black oak beams. Deep in his armchair 
he did not stir, his bearded chin resting upon 
his thin hands, his brows knit in reflection. He 
was thinking—thinking, as ghosts of the past arose 
before him, visions of scenes which in vain he had 
always tried to put from him, and to blot out from 
his memory. 

The silence of the room was broken only by the 
crackling of the big logs and the slow tick of the 
grandfather clock in the corner by the door, till sud¬ 
denly the church clock chimed the hour of nine across 
the hills. 

Then, scarcely had it ceased when there was the 
noise of a door handle being slowly turned, ,and next 
moment the heavy green curtains before the French 

20 


The Rector’s Secret Visitor 21 

window were drawn aside and a dark-haired, rather 
handsome woman of forty, wearing a close-fitting 
hat and a coney seal coat with skunk collar, stepped 
into the room. 

Old Mr. Homfray, startled at the sound, turned 
in his chair, and then springing to his feet faced 
her. 

''You!'" he gasped. “Why do you dare to 
come here ? What do you want ? ” he asked 
angrily. 

“To speak privately with you,” was her hard reply. 
“ I didn’t want others to know of my visit, and think¬ 
ing the window might possibly be unlatched, I tried 
it, and came in this way.” 

“ Then go out the same way! ” commanded the 
old clergyman angrily. “ How dare you come 
here ? ” 

“ Because I want to say something to you.” 

“ I don’t wish to—^and won’t hear it! ” 

“You shall, Mr. Homfray!” replied the woman, 
whose face was full of evil, her eyes glittering like 
those of a serpent. “ I come to-night as messenger 
from a man you know—from Gordon Gray.” 

“From Gordon Gray— youf" gasped the rector in 
surprise. “ Why should he send you to me ? ”* 

“ Because he thought it best not to come him¬ 
self.” 

“If he wishes to speak to me let him face me here,’^ 
Mr. Homfray said boldly. 

“ Ah! ” laughed the woman as though in triumph. 
“ I seem to be an unwelcome visitor.” 


22 


The Voice from the Void 

How could you be otherwise, after what has 
passed ? ” queried the old fellow. 

‘‘ Well, don’t let us have any more bickering. Let’s 
come to business. 'Mr. Gray wants to know whether 
you intend paying ? ” 

“Not a penny—until the money is due next 
August.” 

“ But it was due last August,” the woman 
declared. 

“ That is quite untrue,” replied the rector very 
quietly. 

“ Well, the date is on the deed.” 

“If it is, then the date has been altered.” 

“ But you have a copy.” 

“No. I can’t find it. I must have mislaid it. Is 
there no stamp, with date ? ” 

“ It was never stamped. Mr. Gray’s solicitors have 
already written to you three times about it, and you 
have not replied.” 

“ I have been away, taking duty in Switzerland. Be¬ 
sides, I understood that Gordon Gray died in New 
York last year, and-” 

“ And you thought that by that fact you would 
escape your indebtedness—eh ? ” laughed the woman 
as she stood beside the table, an erect smart figure 
which was well known in certain disreputable night 
clubs in the West End. “ But Gordon Gray attended 
service in your church to-night, and you must have 
seen him in the flesh.” 

“ I did,” replied the old man hoarsely. “ Sight of 
him recalled many events of the past.” 

“ Things that you wish to forget—eh, Mr. Horn- 



The Rector’s Secret Visitor 23 

fray ? she said in a hard voice. But Gordon wants 
his money. If you allege fraud on the part of his 
solicitors you had better write to them.” 

Why does Gray send you here ? You, of all 
women! What does he intend to do?” asked the 
grave old man. 

“To sell the property if you can’t pay him. He 
has already given you several months’ grace. And 
besides, you’ve never answered any letters, nor have 
you paid any interest on the loan.” 

“ Because the money is not yet due,” declared the 
Rector of Little Farncombe. “If you knew the facts 
you would never make this illegal demand.” 

“ I know all the facts. Gordon means to sell the 
property if you cannot pay at once.” 

Norton Homfray bit his lip. Only during the 
past two years had he suspected his whilom friend 
Gordon Gray, and that suspicion had that night 
been confirmed by the presence there of that 
vampire woman, Freda Crisp, whose dark, hand¬ 
some face he had hoped never to look upon again. 
Gray, the son of a rich City merchant, had long 
been the black sheep of his family, and had, 
when at Oxford, been sent down from Balliol for 
forging a cheque to a tailor in the Broad. A few 
years later Homfray, who had recently taken Holy 
Orders, met him and, ignorant of his past, had 
become his bosom friend. After six years Gordon 
went to America, and not until fifteen years after¬ 
wards did the pair see each other, when one day 
they found themselves staying at the Bath Hotel in 
Bournemouth and resumed their close friendship. 


24 The Voice from the Void 

Now old Mr. Homfray was at that moment in 
serious difficulties, partly owing to his business 
instinct and his innocent generosity and trustful¬ 
ness. He was a real upright and pious man who, 
unlike many parsons, practised what he preached. 
He had, in fact, stood security for an old college chum 
who had died suddenly from pneumonia and “ let 
him in.” 

He had been compelled to confess to Gray that 
he was ruined, whereupon his old friend had at once 
told him not to worry, and offered to lend him the 
sum upon his little piece of house property in the 
steep main street of Totnes, in Devon, from which 
he derived his slender income, the stipend at Little 
Farncombe being hardly sufficient to pay the house¬ 
keeper and the gardener at the Rectory. 

But by the sudden appearance of the woman and 
her demands he realized that there was some sinister 
design afoot. That woman who stood before him he 
had strong cause to hate, yet hatred never entered his 
soul—even at that moment. 

He now realized with blank amazement that her 
friend Gordon Gray, the man returned from the grave, 
was trying to swindle him, and that the date of the 
deed—the copy of which he had mislaid—had been 
altered and pre-dated a year. 

“If your friend Gray dares to sell my little property 
—all I have—then I shall institute criminal proceed¬ 
ings against him,” he told the woman frankly, where¬ 
upon his unwelcome visitor opened her little brown 
leather handbag and from it produced a crumpled 


The Rector’s Secret Visitor 25 

envelope, out of which she took three tattered news^ 
paper cuttings, saying coldly: 

Perhaps you had better read these before you utter 
threats,’’ and she handed them to him. 

He held his breath, and the light died from his thin 
countenance. He pushed them aside with trembling 
hands. 

“ You know to what they refer, Mr. Homfray 
—to your appearance under another name! ” 
sneered Freda Crisp. You are the highly re¬ 
spected rector of this picturesque, though obscure, 
little parish, but if your parishioners knew the 
truth I fancy that they and your bishop would 
have something to say about it. Is it just to the 
public that a man such as yourself should dare to 
wear a surplice and have the audacity to preach 
sermons ? ” 

The Rector of Little Farncombe remained silent. 
His face was deathly white, his hands trembled, and 
his eyes were staring. He had suspected that the 
one great secret of his life was known. But it ap¬ 
peared that not only was it known to the unscrupu¬ 
lous man who had once been his friend, but also 
to the woman before him, who was his bitterest 
enemy! 

“ So the pair of you have learnt my secret! ” he 
said in a low, hard voice. “ And I suppose you intend 
to blackmail me—eh?” 

The dark-haired woman laughed. 

Gordon only wants his money back, that’s 

all.” 

And you have forced him to take up this hostile 


26 The Voice from the Void 

attitude,” he said. “ You are my enemy. I know it. 
Well, what do you intend to do?” 

It isn’t > my affair,” she declared. Gray now 
knows that the money you borrowed from him was 
in order to help your fellow-criminal—a man who 
once did him an evil turn—after he had served his 
sentence. He wants his money back, and he is 
going to take it. The property will be up for auction 
in a week or so.” 

But I won’t be swindled in this way! ” cried old 
Mr. Homfray. 

“ Act just as you wish—but remember, if you 
make any move it will be the worse for you. Gor¬ 
don is not a man to stick at trifles,” the woman 
said. 

I know that,” said the rector. 

And it is a very ugly skeleton you have in your 
'cupboard,” remarked the woman with a sinister smile. 

The property at Totnes is worth over four thou¬ 
sand pounds,” he said. 

“ You have only to repay the money with interest 
and the matter is ended.” 

Mr. Homfray paused. 

Then, looking straight into the woman’s evil face, 
he said: 

“ It is you, woman, who once swore to ruin me 
because I would not assist you in that vile plot of 
yours! You thought to trap me, a minister of the 
Church, into assisting you to entice that fly into 
the web you had so cunningly spun for him. But 
you were mistaken! I saw through your evil game, 
and because I did so you vowed vengeance upon me. 


The Rector’s Secret Visitor 27 

And this is the hour of your triumph! ” he added 

bitterly in a deep, hoarse voice, and one quite unusual 
to him. 

The woman’s thin lips were pressed together, but 
she made no immediate reply. 

At last she said: 

I am only here on Mr. Gray’s behalf.” 

‘‘ But it is you who have goaded him to do this— 
to take this action, well knowing that at the moment 
I cannot pay.” 

‘‘ That surely is not my affair,” snapped the woman, 
while old Mr. Homfray stood aghast at the sudden 
blow which had fallen to crush him. 

What would his son Roddy think if he learnt 
the truth concerning that closed chapter of his father’s 
past? What would the parish of Little Farncombe 
say if they knew that their respected rector had fallen 
among thieves? 

Won’t Gray come here himself and talk over the 
matter ? ” he asked presently. 

“ No. He motored back to London as soon as the 
service was over. He had a fancy to see you 
and hear you preach to your dear parishioners, 
who, in all their innocence, believe in you, Mr. 
Homfray,” and again the woman laughed sardonic¬ 
ally. So he sent me to see you in private, and to tell 
you his intentions.” 

“ Are you quite certain he will not come and see 
me?” 

I urged him to do so, but he refused,” said the 
woman. 

Because he fears to face me! ” exclaimed the rec- 


28 The Voice from the Void 


tor. “ He fears lest I, on my part, should speak the 
truth. I trusted Gordon Gray—trusted him as my 
friend—but I have been sadly disillusioned to-night, 
for I have found that he is my enemy, and I am now 
forearmed.” 

“ That is no concern of mine whatever. I have 
given you his message.” 

The Rector of Little Farncombe looked straight 
into her face with his calm grey eyes behind his 
shaggy brows. 

“ Then I will send a message back to him,” he 
slowly replied. “ As he refuses to come here and 
deliver his ultimatum in person, I will, in return, 
deliver my ultimatum to him. Go back and tell 
him that I defy him. Tell him that if either he or 
you lift a finger against me, then the truth con¬ 
cerning the death of young Hugh Willard will 
be known to Scotland Yard, and the affair of Hyde 
Park Square will be cleared up by the arrest of the 
assassin. Tell him that though he thinks there 
was no witness, yet one still exists—one who will 
come forward with indisputable proof. You know 
his name. Gordon Gray and I were friends until 
to-night. But we are no longer so. We are 
enemies. And you know as much of the affair as 
I do!” 

The woman staggered as though he had dealt her 
a blow. Her evil face went ashen in an instant, and 
her dark eyes started from her head. 

What—what do you mean ? ” she gasped. 

“ What I have said I You heard my message 
to Gordon Gray; go and deliver it. Remember 


The Rector’s Secret Visitor 29 

that if either of you molest me, or attempt to 
swindle me as you are now doing, then I shall 
reveal all that I know. My silence depends upon 
you both. So begone! ’’ he added calmly, with 
firm resolve. 

For a few moments the woman in furs stood 
motionless and silent. 

‘‘ You will regret those words, Mr. Homfray! ” 
she said at last, threateningly. I will deliver 
your message, but you will regret it. Remember 
that! 

“ I assure you I have no fear,’" laughed the old 
rector. While Gordon Gray acted honestly as 
the friend I believed him to be, I remained his 
friend. Now that we are enemies it is I who can 
—and will—speak in self-defence. He threatens 
me with ruin, but little does he dream what I 
know concerning the young fellow’s death and 
who was implicated in it—how the snare was 
set to ruin him, and afterwards to close his 
lips! ” 

The handsome woman shrugged her shoulders, 
but her face had entirely changed. She had been 
taken entirely aback by the open defiance of the 
man who, in her fierce vindictiveness, she had 
intended should be her victim. She had believed the 
hour of her triumph to be at hand, instead of 
which she saw that an abyss had opened before her 
—one into which she and her accomplice Gray must 
assuredly fall unless they trod a very narrow and 
intricate path. 

Very well,” she laughed with well-feigned defiance. 


30 The Voice from the Void 

“ I will give Gordon your message. And we shall 
see! ’’ 

With those words she passed to the heavy plush 
curtains and disappeared behind them out upon the 
lawn, beyond which, separated only by a wire fence, 
lay a small and picturesque wood which ran down the 
hill for a quarter of a mile or so. 

Old Mr. Homfray followed her, and with a sigh, 
closed the long glass door and bolted it. 

Then, returning to the fireplace, he stood upon the 
hearthrug with folded arms, thinking deeply, faintly 
murmured words escaping his pale lips. 

“ Roddy must never know! ” he repeated. 

“If he knew the truth concerning that slip in my 
past what would he think of me? He would regard 
his father as a liar and a hypocrite! ” 

Again he remained silent for a considerable 

time. 

“ Gordon Gray! ” he muttered. “ It seems im¬ 
possible that he should rise from the grave and 

become my enemy, after all I have done in his 
interests. I believed him to be my friend! But 
he is under the influence of that woman—that 
woman who means to ruin me because I refused 
to render her assistance in that vile scheme of 
hers! ” 

Suddenly, as he stood there before the blaz¬ 
ing logs, he recollected the sixth chapter of St. 

Luke. 

“ Love your enemies,” he repeated aloud. “ Do 
good to those who hate you. And unto him that 
smiteth you on the one cheek, offer also the other.” 


The Rector’s Secret Visitor 31 

And there before the big arm-chair the fine old 
fellow sank upon his knees and prayed silently for his 
enemy and his female accomplice. 

Afterwards he rose, and re-seating himself in 
his chair sat with his eyes closed, recalling all the 
tragedy and villainy concerned with young Hugh Wil¬ 
lard’s mysterious death in London five years 
before—an enigma that the police had failed to 
solve. 

Meanwhile Roddy Homfray, having left Elma, 
was strolling slowly home full of thoughts of the slim 
and charming girl who had bewitched him, and yet 
whose station was so far above his own. 

Through the sharp frosty night he walked for some 
distance along the broad highway, until he came to 
the cross roads, where he stopped to gossip with the 
village chemist. Then, after ten minutes or so, he 
walked on, crossed a stile and took a short cut across 
a field and up the hill to the woods at the back of the 
Rectory. 

The night had now grown very dark, and as 
he entered the wood, he saw a figure skirting 
it. Whether man or woman he could not distin¬ 
guish. He found the path more difficult than he 
expected, but he knew that way well, and by the 
aid of his pocket torch he was able to keep to the 
path, a rather crooked one, which led to the boundary 
of the Rectory lawn. 

Suddenly, as he passed, his footsteps rustling 
among the dead leaves, he thought he heard a 
curious sound, like a groan. He halted, quickly 
alert. 


32 The Voice from the Void 

Again the sound was repeated somewhere to 
his left—a low groan as though of someone in great 
pain. 

He stepped from the path, examining the 
ground with its many tree trunks by the aid of his 
torch. 

A third time the groan was repeated, but fainter 
than before, therefore he began to search in the 
direction whence the cry came, until, to his sur¬ 
prise, he discovered lying upon the ground at a 
short distance from the wire fence which divided 
the wood from the Rectory property, a female form 
in a neat navy-blue costume, with a small red hat lying 
a short distance away. 

She was in a crouching position, and as the young 
man shone his light upon her, she again drew a deep 
sigh and groaned faintly. 

“What is the matter?” he cried in alarm, dropping 
upon his knees and raising the fair head of a young 
and pretty girl. 

She tried to speak, but her white lips refused to 
utter a sound. At last, by dint of desperate effort, 
she whispered in piteous appeal: 

“ Save me! Oh !—save me — do! ” 

Then next second she drew a deep breath, a shiver 
ran through her body, and she fell inert into the young 
fellow’s arms! 


CHAPTER III 


WHICH CONTAINS ANOTHER MYSTERY 

Roddy Homfray, with the aid of his flash-lamp, gazed 
in breathless eagerness, his strong jaw set, at the girl’s 
blanched countenance. 

As he brushed back the soft hair from the brow, 
he noted how very beautiful she was. 

“ Speak! ” he urged eagerly. “ Tell me what has 
happened.” 

But her heart seemed to have ceased beating; he 
could detect no sign of life. Was he speaking to 
the dead? 

So sudden had it all been that for some moments 
he did not realize the tragic truth. Then, in a flash, 
he became horrified. The girl’s piteous appeal made 
it only too plain that in that dark wood she had been 
the victim of foul play. 

She had begged him to save her. From what? 
From whom? 

There had been a struggle, for he saw that 
the sleeve of her coat had been torn from the 
shoulder, and her hat lying near was also evi¬ 
dence that she had been attacked, probably suddenly, 
and before she had been aware of danger. The 

33 


34 The Voice from the Void 

trees were numerous at that spot, and behind any 
of their great, lichen-covered trunks a man could 
easily hide. 

But who was she ? What was she doin^ in 
Welling Wood, just off the beaten path, at that 

hour? 

Again he stroked the hair from her brow and 

gazed upon her half-open but sightless eyes, as 
she lay heavy and inert in his arms. He listened 
intently in order to satisfy himself that she no 
longer breathed. There seemed no sign of respira¬ 
tion and the muscles of her face and hands seemed 
to have become rigid. 

In astonishment and horror the young man 
rose to his feet, and placing his flash-lamp, still 
switched on, upon the ground, started off by a 

short cut to the Rectory by a path which he 

knew even in the darkness. He was eager to 

raise the alarm regarding the unexpected dis¬ 
covery, and every moment of delay might mean 
the escape of whoever was responsible for the 

crime. 

The village police inspector lived not far from 
the Rectory, and it was his intention first to 

inform his father, and then run on to the 

police. 

But this intention was never carried out, because 
of a strange and bewildering circumstance. 

Indeed, till long past midnight the Reverend 
Norton Homfray sat in his rather shabby little study 
reflecting upon the unwelcome visit of that woman 
Freda Crisp, and wondering what it portended. Her 


Which Contains Another Mystery 35 

threatening attitude was the reverse of reassuring. 
Nevertheless, the rector felt that if Gray and his 
unscrupulous accomplice really meant mischief, then 
he, after all, held the trump card which he had so 
long hesitated to play. 

The clock ticked on. The time passed un¬ 
noticed, and at last he dozed. It was not until 
nearly three o’clock in the morning that he sud¬ 
denly awakened to the lateness of the hour, and the 
curious fact that Roddy had not been in since he had 
left church. 

The old man rose, and ascending to his son’s room, 
believing that Roddy might have come in and retired 
while he slept, found to his surprise that the bed had 
not been occupied. He walked round the house with 
the aid of his electric torch. The front door was still 
unlocked, and it was quite evident that his son had 
not yet returned. 

“ This is a night of strange incidents! ” he 
said aloud to himself as he stood upon the stair¬ 
case. “ First that man Gordon Gray rises as 
though from the tomb, then Freda Crisp visits me, 
and now Roddy is missing! Strange indeed—very 
strange 1 ” 

He returned to his study, and lighting his 
green-shaded reading-lamp upon the writing-table, 
sat down to attend to some letters. He was too 
wakeful now to retire to rest. Besides, Roddy was 
out, and he had decided to remain up until his son 
returned. 

Why Roddy should be out all night puzzled 
the old man greatly. His only intimate friend 


36 The Voice from the Void 

was the village doctor, Hubert Denton, and per¬ 
haps the doctor being called to a patient early in 
the evening Roddy had gone out in the car with 
him. Such seemed the only explanation of his 
absence. 

“ That woman! remarked the old rector 
angrily, as he took some writing paper from 
a drawer. That woman intends mischief! If 
she or Gray attempts to harm me—then I will 
retaliate! ” 

And he drew a long breath, his dark, deep-set eyes 
being fixed straight before him. 

“Yet, after all, ought I to do so?” he went 
on at length. “ I have sinned, and I have re¬ 
pented. I am no better than any other man, 
though I strive to do right and to live up to 
the teaching of the Prince of Peace. ‘ Love your 
enemies. Do good to those who hate you.’ Ah! it 
is so hard to carry out that principle of forgiveness 
—so very hard! ” 

And again he lapsed into silence. 

“ What if Roddy knew—what if those fiends 
told him? Ah! what would he think of the other 
side of his father’s life ? No! ” he cried again in 
anguish some minutes later, his voice sounding weirdly 
in the old-world little room. “No! I could 
not bear it! I—I would rather die than my son 
should know! ” 

Presently, however, he became calmer. As 
rector of Little Farncombe he was beloved by all, 
for few men, even ministers of religion, were so 


Which Contains Another Mystery 37 

Upright and pious or set such an example to their 
fellow-men. 

Old Mr. Purcell Sandys had been to church on two 
successive Sunday mornings, and had acknowledged 
himself greatly impressed by Mr. Homfray’s 
sermons. 

“ They’re not chanted cant, such as we have in so 
many churches and which does so much harm to our 
tnodern religion,” he had told his daughter as they 
had walked back to the Towers. “ But they are 
straight, manly talks which do one real good, and point 
out one’s faults.” 

“ Yes, father,” Elma agreed. The whole village 
speaks exceedingly well of Mr. Homfray.” 

And so it was that the man seated writing his 
letters in the middle of the night and awaiting the 
home-coming of his son, had gained the high esteem 
of the new owner of Farncombe even before he had 
made his first ceremonial call upon the great City 
magnate. 

That night, however, a cloud had suddenly 
arisen and enveloped him. As he wrote on, the 
old rector could not put from him a distinct presage ' 
of evil. Where was Roddy? What could have 
happened that he had not returned as usual to supper 
after church? The boy was a roamer and an 
adventurer. His profession made him that, but when 
at home he always kept regular hours as became a 
dutiful son. 

The bitter east wind had grown stronger, causing 
the bare branches of the trees in the pleasant old 


38 The Voice from the Void 

garden to shake and creak, while in the chimney it 
moaned mournfully. 

At last the bell in the ivy-clad church tower chimed 
the hour of five. The wild winter night was past, 
and it was morning, though still dark. The old rec¬ 
tor drew aside the blind, but the dawn was 
not yet showing. The fire was out, the lamp 
burned dim and was smoking, and the room was now 
cold and cheerless. 

“ I wonder where Roddy can possibly be,” again 
murmured the old man. 

Then, still leaving the front door unlocked, he 
blew out the lamp and retired for a few hours’ 
rest. 

At noon Roderick Horn fray had not returned, 
and after sending a message to Doctor Denton 
and receiving word that he had not seen the young 
man since the previous morning, Mr. Homfray began 
to be seriously alarmed. He went about the village 
that afternoon making inquiries, but nobody 
seemed to have seen him after he had passed 
through the churchyard after the evening ser¬ 
vice. 

Only Mr. Hughes, who kept a small tobacconist’s 
at the further end of the village, apparently had any 
information to give. 

“ I passed along the Guildford road about ten o’clock 
or so, and I believe I saw Mr. Roddy talking 
to a man—who was a stranger. I noticed the man 
in church. He sat in one of the back pews,” said old 
Mr. Hughes. 

In an instant Norton Homfray became alert. 


Which Contains Another Mystery 39 

Could Roddy have been speaking with Gordon 
Gray? 

“ Are you quite sure it was my son ? ” he asked 
eagerly. 

“ Well, it was rather dark, so I could not see the 
young man’s face. But I’m sure that the other was 
the stranger.” 

“ Then you are not absolutely certain it was 
Roddy ? ” 

“ No, Mr. Homfray, I couldn’t swear to it, though 
he looked very much like Mr. Roddy,” was the old 
tobacconist’s reply. “ My sight isn’t what it used to 
be,” he added. 

Still, the incident aroused suspicions in the rector’s 
mind. Was it possible that Gray had told Roddy 
the truth, and the latter had gone oi¥ with his father’s 
enemy ? In any case, his son’s absence was a complete 
mystery. 

That evening Mr. Homfray called at the village 
police station and there saw the inspector of the Sur¬ 
rey County Constabulary, a big, burly man named 
Freeman, whom he knew well, and who frequently 
was an attendant at church. 

He, of course, told him nothing of the reap¬ 
pearance of Gordon Gray, but simply related 
the fact that Roddy had left the church on Sunday 
night, and with the exception of being seen in the 
Guildford road two hours later, had completely 
disappeared. 

“ That’s peculiar! ” remarked the dark-bearded 
man in uniform. But I dare say there’s some 
explanation, sir. You’ll no doubt get a wire or 


40 The Voice from the Void 

a letter in the morning.” Then he added: ‘‘ Mr. 
Roddy is young, you know, sir. Perhaps there’s a 
lady in the case! When a young man disappears 
we generally look for the lady—and usually we 
find her 1 ” 

“ Roddy has but few female friends,” replied the 
old rector. “ He is not the sort of lad to disappear 
and leave me in anxiety.” 

“ Well, sir, if you like, Pll phone into Guildford 
and circulate his description,” Freeman said. “ But 
personally I think that he’ll come back before 
to-morrow.” 

“Why?” 

“ Well—I know Mr. Roddy. And I agree that he 
would never cause you, his father, an instant’s pain 
if he could help it. He’s away by force of circum¬ 
stances, depend upon it! ” 

Force of circumstances! The inspector’s words 
caused him to ponder. Were those circumstances 
his meeting with Gordon Gray for the first time that 
night ? 

Roddy, he knew, had never met Gray. The 
man’s very existence he had hidden from his son. 
And Roddy was abroad when, in those later years, 
the two men had met. The old rector of Little 
Farncombe felt bewildered. A crowd of difficulties 
had, of late, fallen upon him, as they more or less 
fall upon everybody in every walk of life at one time 
or another. We all of us have our “ bad times,” and 
Norton Homfray’s was a case in point. Financial 
troubles had been succeeded by the rising of the ghosts 


Which Contains Another Mystery 41 

of the past, and followed by the vanishing of his 
only son. 

Three eager, breathless, watchful days went by, 
but no word came from the fine well-set-up young 
man who had led such a daring and adventurous 
life in South America. More than ever was his 
father convinced that old Hughes was correct in his 
surmise. He had stood upon the pathway of the 
Guildford road—the old tar-macked highway which 
leads from London to Portsmouth—and had been 
approached by Gordon Gray, the man who meant to 
expose his father to the parishioners. The world of 
the Reverend Norton Homfray was, after all, a very 
little one. The world of each of us, whether we be 
politician or patriot, peer or plasterer, personage or 
pauper, has its own narrow confines. Our enemies 
are indeed well defined by the Yogi teaching as “ little 
children at play.” Think of them as such and you 
have the foundation of that great philosophy of the 
East which raises man from his ordinary level to 
that of superman—the man who wills and is 
obeyed. 

The fact that the son of the rector of Little Fam- 
combe was missing had come to the knowledge of an 
alert newspaper correspondent in Guildford, and on 
the fourth day of Roddy’s disappearance a paragraph 
appeared in several of the London papers announcing 
the fact. 

Though the story was happily unembroidered, 
it caused the rector great indignation. Why 
should the Press obtrude upon his anxiety? He 
became furious. As an old-fashioned minister of 


42 The Voice from the Void 

religion he had nothing in common with modern 
journalism. Indeed, he read little except his 
weekly Guardian, and politics did not interest him. 
His sphere was beyond the sordid scramble for 
political notoriety and the petticoat influence in high 
quarters. 

His son was missing, and up and down the country 
the fact was being blazoned forth by one of the news 
agencies! 

Next day brought him three letters from private 
inquiry agents offering their services in the tracing 
of “ your son, Mr. Roderick Homfray ’’—with a 
scale of fees. He held his breath and tore 
up the letters viciously. Half an hour afterwards 
Inspector Freeman called. Mrs. Bentley showed 
him into the study, whereupon the inspector, still 
standing, said: 

“ Well, sir. I’ve got into trouble about your son. 
The Chief Constable has just rung me up asking why 
I had not reported that he was missing, as it’s in 
the papers.” 

The rector was silent for a moment. 

I’m sorry. Freeman, but my anxiety is my own 
affair. If you will tell Captain Harwood that from 
me, I shall feel greatly obliged.” 

“ But how did it get into the papers, sir ? ” 

‘‘ That I don’t know. Local gossip, I suppose. 
But why,” asked the rector angrily, “ why should 
these people trouble themselves over my private 
affairs? If my son is lost to me, then it is my 
own concern—and mine alone! ” he added with 
dignity. 


Which Contains Another Mystery 43 

“ I quite agree, sir,” replied the inspector. “ Of 
course, I have my duty to do and I am bound to obey 
orders. But I think with you that it is most dis¬ 
graceful for any newspaper man to put facts forward 
all over the country which are yours alone—as father 
and son.” 

“ Then I hope you will explain to your Chief Con¬ 
stable, who, no doubt, as is his duty, has reproached 
you for lack of acumen. Tell him that I distinctly 
asked you to refrain from raising a hue and cry and 
circulating Roddy’s description. When I wish it I 
will let the Chief Constable of Surrey know,” he 
added. 

That message Inspector Freeman spoke into the 
ear of the Chief Constable in Guildford and thus 
cleared himself of responsibility. But by that time 
the whole of Little Farncombe had become agog at 
the knowledge that the rector’s tall, good-looking son 
was being searched for by the police. 

Everyone knew him to be a wanderer and an 
adventurer who lived mostly abroad, and many asked 
each other why he was missing and what allegation 
there could possibly be against him—now that the 
police were in active search of any trace of him. 


CHAPTER IV' 


LOST DAYS 

It was a bright, crisp afternoon on the seventh day 
of Roddy’s disappearance. 

The light was fading, and already old Mrs. Bentley 
had carried the lamp into Mr. Horn fray’s study and 
lit it, prior to bringing him his simple cup of tea, for 
at tea-time he only drank a single cup, without either 
toast or bread-and-butter. 

He was about to raise his cup to his lips, having 
removed his old briar pipe and laid it in the ash- 
try, when Mrs. Bentley tapped and, re-entering, 
said: 

“ There’s Miss Sandys to see you, sir.” 

The rector rose and, rather surprised, ordered his 
visitor to be shown in. 

Next moment from the square stone hall the 
pretty young girl, warmly clad in furs, entered 
the room. 

She met the eyes of the grey old man, and after a 
second’s pause said: 

“ I have to apologize for this intrusion, Mr. Horn- 
fray, but—well, I have seen in the paper that your 
son is missing. He went out on Sunday night, it is 
said, and has not been seen since.” 

That is so. Miss Sandys,” replied the old 
man, offering her a chair beside the fire. As 

44 


Lost Days 45 

you may imagine, I am greatly concerned at his 
disappearance.” 

“ Naturally. But I have come here, Mr. Horn- 
fray, to speak to you in confidence,” said the girl 
hesitatingly. “ Your son and I were acquainted, 
and-” 

“ I was not aware of that. Miss Sandys,” exclaimed 
the rector, interrupting her. 

“No. I do not expect that he told you. My 
father does not know either. But we met quite 
casually the other day, and last Sunday we again 
met accidentally after church and he walked home 
with me. I suppose it was half-past nine when 
we parted.” 

“ There was no reason why he should not return 
home, I suppose ? ” asked Mr. Homfray eagerly. 

“ None whatever. In wishing me good-bye he 
told me that he might be leaving here very soon, 
and perhaps we might not have another oppor¬ 
tunity of meeting before he went. I thanked him for 
walking so far with me, and we parted the best of 
friends.” 

“ He said he would be leaving Little Farncombe 
very soon, did he ? ” remarked the rector thought¬ 
fully. 

“ Yes. I understood from him that he was obtain¬ 
ing, or had obtained, a concession to prospect for a 
deposit of emeralds somewhere in the Atlas Mountains, 
in Morocco.” 

“ That is true. Some ancient workings are 
known to exist somewhere in the wild Wad Sus 
region, and through a friend he has been in 



46 The Voice from the Void 

treaty with the Moorish Government, with the 
hope of obtaining the concession. If he found 
the mine which is mentioned by several old 
Arabic writers it would no doubt bring him great 
fortune.” 

Yes. But where can he be? ” 

“ Who knows, Miss Sandys! ” exclaimed the dis¬ 
tracted father blankly. 

“ He must be found,” declared the girl. “ He left 
me to return home. What could possibly have 
occurred to prevent him from carrying out his 
intention ? ” 

What indeed, reflected the old man, except perhaps 
that he met Gordon Gray and perhaps left for London 
with him? He was now more than ever inclined to 
believe the rather vague story told by the village 
tobacconist. 

“ Yes, Miss Sandys, he must be found. I have now 
asked the police to circulate his description, and if he 
is alive no doubt he will be discovered.” 

“ You surely don’t suspect that something tragic 
has happened to him—for instance, that he has met 
with foul play?” cried the girl. 

“ It certainly looks like it, or he would no doubt 
have set my mind at rest by this time,” replied his 
father. 

By the girl’s anxiety and agitation he saw that 
she was more than usually concerned regarding 
his son’s whereabouts. He had had no idea that 
Roddy was acquainted with the daughter of the 
great financier who had purchased Lord Farn- 
combe’s estates. Yet, after all, he reflected, Roddy 


Lost Days 47 

was a fine, handsome boy, therefore what more 
natural than the pair should become attracted by each 
other. 

He saw that the girl was uneasy, and was not 
surprised when she said: 

“ I trust, Mr. Horn fray, that you will treat 
what I have told you in entire confidence. My 
father does not approve of my making chance 
acquaintances. I got into an awful row a little 
time ago about it. I know he would not object 
to my knowing your son if we had been properly 
introduced. But, you see, we were not! ” she 
laughed. 

“ I quite understand,’’ said the old rector, smiling. 

One day I hope you will be properly introduced 
to my son when we find him.” 

‘‘ We must, Mr. Homfray. And we will! ” cried 
the pretty young girl determinedly. 

‘‘ Ah! ” exclaimed the old man, his thin fingers 
clasped before him. “If we only could. Where 
can my boy be ? ” 

Elma Sandys rose a few moments later, and taking 
the old man’s hand urged patience and courage, and 
then walked down the hill and back to the Towers 
full of grave reflections. 

She was the last person to see and speak with 
the alert, athletic young man who had so suddenly 
and strangely come into her life. At Park Lane 
she met many young men-about-town, most of 
them wealthy and all of them idlers, but no second 
thought had she given to a single one of them. 
As she walked she examined her own mind, and 


48 The Voice from the Void 

was compelled to admit that thoughts of Roddy 
llomfray now absorbed her. 

The mystery of his disappearance after bidding 
her farewell had gripped her, heart and soul. 

During the two days that followed the descrip¬ 
tion of Roderick Homfray, the young mining 
engineer, was circulated to every police station in 
the country, and all constables in London and the 
great cities had had that description read out to 
them before going on duty. There was scarcely 
a police constable in the United Kingdom who did 
not know it by heart, with the final words of the 
official notice: “ The missing man is greatly interested 
in wireless telephony, of which he has a deep and 
scientific knowledge.” 

That sentence had been added by the Surrey 
County Constabulary in case the young man 
might be hiding from his friends, and might 
betray himself by his expert knowledge of radio 
science. 

Of the woman Freda Crisp, or of Gordon Gray, 
old Mr. Homfray had heard nothing. The whole 
village sympathized with him in his distress, and, 
of course, all sorts of rumours—some of them cruel 
indeed—were afloat. Fortunately Fima’s name 
was not coupled with Roddy’s, for with the excep¬ 
tion of the rector nobody knew of their acquaint¬ 
ance. Yet some ill-natured gossip, a low-bred 
woman at the end of the village, started a story 
connecting Roddy with a young married woman who 
had left her husband a fortnight before, gone to 
London, and disappeared. 


Lost Days 49 

This cruel story was not long in reaching 
Elma's ears, and though she disbelieved it, never¬ 
theless it naturally caused her both wonder and 
anger. 

On the afternoon of the third day after the cir¬ 
culation of the description of the missing young man, 
a stout, pleasant-faced lady named Boydon chanced 
to read it in the paper, and then sat staring before’ 
her in wonderment. 

Then, after a few moments, she rose, crossed the 
room, and rang the telephone. 

A few seconds later she was speaking with a Mr. 
Edwards, and asked him to come along to see her 
upon an important matter, to which he at once 
consented. 

Now Miss Boydon was the matron of the 
Cottage Hospital at Pangbourne, a pretty Thames- 
side village well known to river folk as being one 
of the prettiest reaches in Berkshire, and Mr. 
Edwards was the local ])olice sergeant of the Berks. 
Constabulary, and lived at the other end of the 
long wide village street which led out upon the 
Reading road. 

Ten minutes later Edwards, a portly, rather red¬ 
faced man, arrived on his bicycle, and on entering 
the matron’s room, his helmet in his hand, was shown 
the description. 

By Jove, miss! ” he exclaimed. “ I believe it’s 
him! We’ve had the notice at the station, but I 
never connected him with it! ” 

‘‘ Neither did I—until now,” declared the stout 
Miss Boydon. “ He only became conscious this 


50 The Voice from the Void 

morning—and now he tells us a rambling and alto¬ 
gether incoherent story. Personally I think he’s 
slightly demented. That’s what the doctor thought 
when he saw him at noon. He’s waiting to see his 
condition to-night.” 

“ Well, the description is exactly like him,” 
declared the sergeant, re-reading it. When he 
was brought into the station the other night I took 
him to be intoxicated. Then when Doctor Maynard 
saw him, he ordered him here.” 

“ The doctor thinks he is suffering from drugs,” 
said the matron. “ He has been unconscious ever 
since he was brought here, nearly a week ago, and 
now he certainly has not regained his senses. He 
talks wildly about a girl who was murdered in a 
wood and died in his arms. Apparently he is 
suffering from delusions.” 

“ In any case, miss, I think I ought to telegraph 
to Guildford that a young man answering the 
description is here, don’t you think so?” 

“I should not be in too great a hurry if I were 
you, Edwards,” was the reply. ‘‘Wait until Doctor 
Maynard has seen him again. We shall probably 
know more to-night. I’ve ordered nurse to keep 
him quite quiet and listen to his stories as though 
she believes every word.” 

“The young man is missing from a place called 
Little Farncombe, in Surrey,” said the sergeant. 
“ I wonder how he came to be lying on the tow- 
path at the foot of Whitchurch Bridge? He must 
have been there all night, for one of the men work¬ 
ing on the Thames Conservancy dredger found him 


Lost Days 51 

when on his way to work at six o’clock on Tuesday 
morning.” 

All clues to his identity have been removed,” 
remarked the matron. “ His name has been cut 
out of his shirt collar and underclothing, and the 
laundry marks removed—all deliberately done as 
if to efface his identity. Possibly he intended to 
commit suicide, and that’s why he was on the river 
bank.” 

But the doctor, when he saw him at the 
police station, gave his opinion that the man was 
drugged,” the police sergeant said. I don’t think 
he had any intention of suicide.” 

“ Well, in any case, let us wait till this even¬ 
ing. I will telephone to you after the doctor has 
seen him,” the matron promised. And with that 
the sergeant left. 

At six o’clock Doctor Maynard, a quiet elderly 
man who had practised in Pangbourne and district 
for fifteen years, called again and saw Roddy lying 
in the narrow little bed. 

His face was pale and drawn, and his eyes sunken 
and weary. 

“ Well, doctor,” he exclaimed cheerily, “ I feel 
a lot better than I did this morning. Pm able 
to think now—and to remember. But oh!—my 
head! ” 

“ That’s good,” declared the white-haired medical 
man. “ Now what is your name, and how did you 
come here?” he asked, the stout matron standing, 
watchful, beside him. 

“ My name is Roderick Homfray, and Pm the 


52 The Voice from the Void 

son of the Reverend Norton Homfray, rector of 
Little Famcombe, in Surrey,” the patient replied 
frankly. “ What brought me here I don^t know. 
What day is it to-day ? ” 

“ The fourteenth of December.” 

“ The fourteenth of December! Well, the last I 
remember is on the night of the third—a Sunday 
night. And I shan’t forget it either, I assure 
you! I was on my way home soon after half-past 
nine at night, and in Welling Wood, close by the 
Rectory paddock, I found a girl lying on the 
ground. She could just speak. She appealed to 
me to save her. Then she died. I rose and 
dashed across the wood to my father’s house to 
raise the alarm, but I had hardly gone a hundred 
yards when straight in front of me something ex¬ 
ploded. I saw what seemed to be a ball of red 
fire, but after that I know nothing—nothing until 
I came to my senses this morning and found myself 
here I Where I’ve been in the meantime, doctor, I 
have no idea.” 

Doctor Maynard, still under the impression that 
the story of the murdered girl was a delusion, 
sympathized with the patient and suggested 
sleep. 

‘‘ I’ll come to see you to-morrow,” he added. 
“ You’re quite all right, so don’t worry. I will see 
that a telegram is sent to-night to your father. He’ll 
be here to-morrow, no doubt.” 

At ten o’clock the following morning the rector 
stood at the bedside of his son and listened to the 
amazing story of the discovery in Welling Wood 


Lost Days 53 

and the red ball of fire which Roddy subsequently 
saw before him. 

Perhaps I was struck by lightning! ” Roddy 
added. But if that were so I should surely have 
remained in the wood. No doubt I was struck down 
maliciously. But why ? And why should I have 
been taken away unconscious and kept so for several 
days, and then conveyed to the river bank here at 
Whitchurch ? ” 

“ I don’t know, my son,” replied his father 
quietly, though he stood staggered at the amazing 
story. 

Then he added: 

‘‘ The police searched Welling Wood and all the 
neighbouring copses three days after you had dis¬ 
appeared, but found no trace of you.” 

But surely they found the poor girl, father! ” 
cried Roddy, raising himself upon his arm. 

‘‘ No, my boy, nobody was found,” he replied. 

“ That’s strange! ” exclaimed the young man. 

Then she must have been taken away with me! 
But by whom? What devil’s work was there in 
progress that night, father ? ” 

** Ah! my boy. That I cannot tell! ” 

“ But I mean to ascertain! ” cried the young 
man fiercely. “ That girl appealed to me to save 

her, and she died in my arms. Where is she? 

And why should I be attacked and drugged so 
that I nearly became insane ? Why ? Perhaps it 

was because I had accidentally discovered the 

crime! ” 


CHAPTER V 


THROUGH THE ETHER 

“ Hush ! You infernal idiot! What did I tell 
you ? What the deuce are you doing ? ” cried the man, 
tearing the telephone from the woman’s hand and 
throwing over a switch upon the roll-top desk at 
which she was seated. 

The low hum of an electric generator ceased and 
the current was cut off. 

'' You fool! ” cried the short, middle-aged, clean¬ 
shaven man in a dinner-jacket, and with a cigar 
stuck in the corner of his mouth. 

'' Will you never learn common sense, Freda, 
after all I’ve told you! It’s fortunate I came in 
at this moment! Do you want to be jugged? It 
seems so! ” 

Freda Crisp, in a gorgeous Paquin evening gown, 
turned deliberately in her chair and, coldly surveying 
the man who had just entered, said: 

“ Well, my dear Gordon, and what’s upset your 
digestion to-night? Things said over this wire¬ 
less telephone—broadcasted over five hundred 
miles of space from your cosy rooms here—can 
be said without anybody being the wiser as to 
who uttered them. I look upon this wireless box 
of tricks as a priceless joke. You turn over a 
switch, and into thousands of ears you speak all 

54 


Through the Ether 55 

over the kingdom, and across into Holland and 
France and even Scandinavia. The great Marconi 
is, you’ll admit, dear old thing, a vronderful 
nut! ” 

“Bah! You’re not serious, Freda! You laugh 
at perils. And a peril now faces us.” 

“ Ah! My dear Gordon, this is the first time 
Fve ever heard such an admission from you—you, 
of all men! Peril? It’s in the dictionary, but 
not in your vocabulary—or mine, my dear boy. 
I’ve faced danger, and so have you—nasty troublous 
moments with detectives hanging around—but we’ve 
generally been able to wriggle out by the back door, 
or the window, or-” 

“ Or else bluff it out, Freda! ” interrupted 
Gray. “ Yes, you’re right! But to deliberately 

ask after the health of Roderick Homfray over 

the wireless telephone—well, it’s simply courting 
trouble.” 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Well, don’t you know that there’s an 
apparatus invented by two clever Italians, Bellini 
and Tosi, which is called a direction-finder?” 

asked her rather good-looking companion, as he 
removed his cigar from his lips. “ That apparatus 
is in use all over the country. That’s how they 
find aircraft lost in fogs—and that’s how they 
could find to a yard exactly the position of this 

secret set of ours frorh which you spoke those 
silly jeering words. Gad! you’re a fool, Freda! 
Shut up—and don’t meddle with this wireless 
transmitter in future! Remember, I’ve got no 



56 The Voice from the Void 

official licence. This room ”—and he swept his 
"hand around the small apartment filled with a 
marvellous collection of wireless apparatus—“ is 
our secret. If the authorities discovered it—well, 
it would, no doubt, be the end for both of us—the 
Old Bailey and—well, just jug for both of us. I 
know something about wireless, and as you know 
it bears us in good stead. We’ve profited thousands 
on the stunt—you and I, Freda—and-” 

“ And Roderick Homfray also knows something 
about wireless, my dear old thing,” laughed the hand¬ 
some woman, lazily taking a cigarette from her gold 
case, tapping it and lighting jt. 

“ That’s just it! You’re a priceless fool to have 
taken such a risk as to speak broadcast as you did. 
What did you say ? ” 

'' I only asked how 3.X.Q. Roddy Homfray of 
Little Farncombe was getting on, and gave my name 
as Freda! ” 

‘‘ Fool i ” yelled Gordon Gray in fury. It may 
be reported to the old sky-pilot! Young Homfray 
is in oblivion. We know that he’s been picked up 
off the Thames towing-path, damp and unconscious, 
but in all probability he’ll never recover from the 
dope we gave him. We sincerely hope not, eh? I 
expected he’d die in the night.” 

The handsome woman hesitated. 

“ No, Gordon, we hope he will recover. If he 
doesn’t, then it’s murder once again; and, after all, 
that’s an infernally ugly word. It would mean more 
than jug! ” 

The short, rather stout, beady-eyed man, the 



Through the Ether 57 

huge cigar still in his mouth, made a gesture of 
impatience, and crossing to the big roll-top writ¬ 
ing-table, upon which was a high-power trans¬ 
mission set of wireless telephone capable of 
projecting the human voice clearly to any 
point in the British Isles, he turned over 
another switch and placed the telephones over his 
ears. 

As he did so he turned an ebonite knob 
with a brass pointer upon a semicircular scale 
of ivory—one of many before him—just a six¬ 
teenth of an inch. He touched it with infinite 
care. 

‘‘ Just listen, Freda,” he said, in a hard voice. 
“ Now just listen here, how by your accursed foolish¬ 
ness you’ve brought danger upon us. Listen, you 
madwoman! ” 

The woman took up the second pair of head- 
’phones, twisted the steel band and, instead of 
placing the ’phones over her head, put the ear pieces 
to her ears with the arched band towards her 
face—a favourite attitude with women who listen to 
wireless telephony. 

As the delicate receivers came to her ears she 
draw a long breath, the colour dying from her 
face. 

The little room wherein the fine expensive 
experimental set was installed was on the ground 
floor of a good-sized, old-fashioned house called 
‘‘Willowden,” which stood behind a broad dawn 
just oflf the Great North Road between Hatfield 
and Welwyn, twenty-five miles from London, a 


58 The Voice from the Void 

distance which was as nothing to Gordon Gray with 
his up-to-date Rolls. 

From the Automobile Club in Pall Mall he 
could easily reach home in half an hour, even 
though the traffic through North London was 
usually bad. That night he had taken Freda to 
the theatre, and they had had supper at Giro’s 
afterwards, and it was now only one o’clock in the 
morning. 

“ Listen, old thing! ” she urged, as she again 
adjusted the telephones on her ears. What’s 
that ? ” 

Gordon Gray listened attentively. 

A deep harsh voice was heard—a Voice from 
Nowhere—which asked slowly and very dis¬ 
tinctly : 

“ Who was that who is interested in 3.X.Q.? 
This is 3.A.X. at Carlisle calling. Who are you, 
Freda? Please tell me who you are! Roddy 
Homfray, 3.X.Q., is well, but I fear he may not 
be listening. Can I relay any message, Freda?” 
asked the voice. 

“ Curse you! ” cried the man. You’ve 
actually given your name broadcast over the whole 
country! What the devil do you mean ? ” he 
cried, glaring at her. All wireless amateurs 
know 3.x.Q. as old Homfray’s son. They will 
inquire after Freda, and then old Homfray will 
know! Gad! You’ve made an unholy mess of 
things now! Put those ’phones down and be 
quiet! ” he added. 

Then, as she disentangled the head-’phones 


Through the Ether 59 

from her hair, he pulled over the transmitting 
switch, and as the generator began to gather speed 
until it hummed pleasantly and the two big 
globular valves being aglow, he said, in a forced, 
unnatural voice: 

Hulloa, 3.A.X. ? Hulloa, Carlisle. Hulloa, 
3.A.X. 3.A.X.? This is 3.B.T. at Birmingham 

calling. I heard your message about 3.X.Q. at 
Little Farncombe and about Freda. It wasn’t Freda 
—a woman—but Freeman—Freeman. Do you 
hear? I heard it as Freeman. I heard 3.X.Q. 
speaking an hour ago. He said he could not transmit 
to-night, but will do so to-morrow night at 20.00 
o’clock G.M.T. Have you got that, 3.A.X. ? 
3.B.T. changing over! ” 

And he flung back the switch so that in a few 
seconds the generator was silent, and all became 
quiet save for the ticking of the round-faced yacht’s 
clock which bore in large capitals G.M.T.—meaning 
Greenwich Mean Time. 

Both took up the receiving ’phones and listened. 

A few moments later there sounded the peculiar 
whistle of a wireless carrier wave, and next second 
the same deep voice called in the jargon of 
wireless: 

'‘Hulloa, 3.B.T.? Hulloa, Birmingham? Hulloa, 
3.B.T. This is 3.A.X. at Carlisle calling. I 
heard your message O.K. I understand that it 
was Freeman—not Freda. I thought it was a lady 
inquiring after our friend 3.X.Q. Many thanks. 
I will listen for 3.X.Q.’s transmission to-morrow 
night. Sorry I worried you about Freda. 


6 o The Voice from the Void 

Thanks, 3.B.T. Thanks, O.M. 3.A.X. switching 
off!’’ 

The O.M. stood for old man,” a familiar 
greeting between wireless experimenters unknown 
to each other, and who only meet through the 
ether. 

I hope nobody has put a direction-finder upon 
me! ” said Gray a moment later. 

Really you are very slick, Gordon,” laughed 
the handsome woman. “ That * change-over to 
Freeman is excellent 1 But as you said you were 
an amateur in Birmingham, and here we are at 
Crane Hill, you are quite right in fearing that some¬ 
body might spot us.” 

“ Ah! I replied quickly, and gave them no 
time, you see,” laughed the elusive crook, for such 
he was. 

His accomplice laughed merrily. They were 
a refined, good-looking pair. Freda passed herself 
off to most people as Gray’s sister. The good 
people of Hatfield knew the tenants of the old- 
fashioned house as Mr. Gray and his widowed 
sister, Mrs. Crisp. The latter—a smart, go-ahead 
woman—often drove her own little aluminium¬ 
bodied A.C. car up to London and back. Indeed, 
brother and sister lived mostly in London where 
they had a flat in Kensington, but the week-ends 
they usually spent at Willowden, where Gray’s 
old servant, Claribut, and his wife ran the house 
together. 

Indeed Gray, a moment later, touched the 
bell, and old Claribut—a very respectable-looking. 


Through the Ether 6i 

white-haired man—appeared. Surely none who called 
there would suspect such an outwardly perfect 
servant to be a crook like his master. 

“ Jim, we’re going back to town to-night,” 
Gray said. “If anybody calls I’m in Paris. But 
I don’t expect that anyone will. Tell that to your 
wife, and to-morrow go over to Pangbourne, stay 
at the Elephant Hotel there, and find out what is 
doing concerning young Horn fray. He’s at the 
Cottage Hospital there. You know all the 
facts.” 

“ All right! ” replied the clean-shaven old 
butler, whose aristocratic appearance always bore 
him in such good stead. He often posed as a 
benevolent philanthropist, and could impose upon 
most people. His was a long criminal record at 
Parkhurst and Sing Sing, and he was a man who, 
having spent nearly half his life in jail, had 
brought crookdom to a fine art, truly a worthy 
associate of Gordon Gray, alias Gordon Tresham, 
Ralph Fane, Major Hawes Jackson, Commander 
Tothill, R.N., and a dozen other names which had 
risen and faded upon the phosphorescence of his 
elusive life. 

Gordon Gray lived—and he lived well—at 
other people’s expense. He had caught the habit 
of hanging on to the edge of the wealthy man’s 
garment, and wealthy war-profiteers were, he found, 
so very easily gulled when they wanted to get on, 
and by political manoeuvring to make their wives 
titled “ ladies.” 

The fact was that Gordon Gray was a dealer 


62 The Voice from the Void 


in big things. Trumpery theft, burglary or such¬ 
like offences, were beneath him. He could manipu¬ 
late big deals in the City, could arrange ’’ a 
knighthood at a price, and sometimes, when he 
and Freda had suddenly arrived in London from 
New York, he would actually entertain English 
politicians with names of world-wide repute at elab¬ 
orate dinners at the Ritz. 

Though a crook he was a philosopher, and 
his favourite remark when things went badly 
was: “ Bah! it is no use blowing against the 
wind! ” 

That night he felt himself blowing against the 
wind. Though he said nothing to the handsome 
woman at his side, he regretted that Roddy Horn- 
fray had not been placed in the river Thames as 
he had first suggested, instead of upon the bank 
opposite that beautiful riverside house with its 
glorious lawns and gardens at the other side of 
Whitchurch Bridge. If Roddy’s unconscious form 
had been pitched over the bank it would have 
been found down at Mapledurham, and believed 
to be a case of suicide. He had been a fool, 
he declared within himself. He had hoped that 
the young man would be found dead in the morning. 
But he had not! 

“ I’ll go over to Pangbourne,” said the elderly man 
he had addressed so familiarly as Jim. “ And I’ll 
report all I can gather. Anything else?” he asked, 
crossing to a box of cigars and helping himself 
without being invited. 

“No. Get back here. And tell your wife to 


Through the Ether 63 

keep the wireless securely locked up. There’s a 
Yale lock on this door. Nobody comes in. You 
hear! ” 

Of course. It wouldn’t do, Gordon, would it? 
That wireless is going to be a big use to us in the 
near future, eh?” laughed the white-haired old 
man. 

“ It will be, if we’re cute. But we shall have 
to have our eyes skinned. Have you paid all the 
tradesmen’s books ? ” ^ 

“ Yes.” 

‘‘ Then send to the chemist in Hatfield for a 
big bottle of eau-de-cologne—the biggest he’s got. 
Pay a pound for it, or more, and say that I want 
it to put into my bath. It gives the guys here a 
shock and impresses them.” 

“ Good idea! ” laughed Jim. “ You’re always 
brimming over with them. But look here, Gordon,” 
he said, as he bit ofif the end of the cigar and started 
to light it. “ First, I don’t like this furnished 
house of ours, with the inquisitive landlady^ and I 
don’t like the wireless.” 

Why ? ” 

“ Well, what I’m afraid of is, that though we’ve 
got the aerial wires well concealed from the road¬ 
way, some boy scout of an errand boy may come 
in and twig it, and tell some other boy scout that 
we’ve got an aerial up. See ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, I see,’’ replied Gordon. “ But the risk 
is small. If a bo-y discovers it, let the boy listen 
in, and tell him to keep dark about it. We’re 
inventors, and we have discovered something re- 


64 The Voice from the Void 

garding wireless telephony which will soon startle 
the whole world. The boy, whoever he is, will be 
startled and hold his tongue—till we decide how 
to deal with him. Oh! how simple you are, Jim! 
You’re getting chicken-hearted in your old age! ” 
And Freda, who was standing by, laughed 
outright. 


CHAPTER VI 

MISTS OF MEMORY 

Three days after Roddy Homfray had regained 
consciousness Doctor Maynard, on visiting him, 
declared that though his mental condition was not 
yet quite satisfactory, he was well enough to travel 
home. Therefore he took him in his own two-seater 
car from the Cottage Hospital at Pangbourne, by 
way of Wokingham and Godaiming to Little Farn- 
combe, where the old rector welcomed back his son 
and secretly returned thanks to his Maker for his 
safety. 

The quiet old doctor only remained long enough 
to have a drink—unprofessional, perhaps, but refresh- 
ing for he had to get back to his patients. 

After he had gone, Roddy sat before the fire in 
the little study, his left hand upon his brow, for 
his head ached badly. It seemed that around his 
skull was a band of iron. Never for an instant 
since he had become conscious of things about 
him had that excruciating pain ceased. It was 
only when worn out by it that he slept, and thus 
became free. 

“ Well, now, my boy, tell me exactly what 
occurred on that Sunday night,^’ urged the old 
clergyman, standing before him and looking down 
at the crouched figure with eager curiosity. 

65 j 


66 The Voice from the Void 


“ I—well, I really don’t know,” was the youn^ 
man’s reply. As I told you, in the darkness 
I found a girl just off the path in Welling Wood. 
She appealed to me to save her, and a few 
moments later she died in my arms. Then I 
rushed across here to raise the alarm, when, all 
of a sudden, I saw a bright red flash, and I knew 
no more till I awoke in the little hospital at 
Pangboume.” 

“ But, my dear Roddy, the police searched the 
wood to find you—searched every inch of it—but 
there was no girl there. If she were dead she 
would surely have been found.” 

“ I was taken away unconscious. If so, what 
could have prevented the assassin and his friends— 
for there must have been more than one per^ 
son—removing the evidence of their crime ? ” 

'‘Assassin! ” gasped the old man, drawing a 
deep breath. Thoughts of Gordon Gray and the 
handsome Freda crossed his mind. But what 
hand could they have had in the death of an 
unknown girl in the woods at the rear of the 
Rectory ? 

No. He decided that Roddy, in his unbalanced 
state of mind, was filled with wild imaginings. 
The description of the red ball of fire was 
sufficient in itself to show how disordered was 
his brain. The poor boy was suffering from 
hallucinations, he decided, so he humoured him 
and listened as he repeated his incredible story. 

“You would recognize the girl again, Roddy?” 
asked his father, puffing at his pipe. 


Mists of Memory 67 

Recognize her! Of course I should. know 
her anywhere!’" And once «again he went into 
a long and detailed description of her face, her 
eyes, her hair, and her dress. 

The short December afternoon was drawing in 
and the light was fading. 

** I think, Roddy, that if I were you I’d go and 
lie down,” said his father softly. “ Your poor 
head worries you—I know, my dear boy.” 

‘‘ It does. But I can think now—^think quite 
clearly,” was the young man’s reply. At the 
hospital the matron regarded me as a half-dazed 
idiot, I believe, and the nurse listened to me as 
she might listen to a baby’s babbling. But I 
tell you, father. I’m now perfectly in my right 
mind. You may believe, or you may disbelieve 
my story, but Roddy, your son, has told you 
the truth, and he repeats every word he has 
said.” 

For a few moments the rector was silent, his 
pipe still in his mouth and his hands in the 
pockets of the easy old black jacket he wore in 
the house. He was not a man who made any 
outward show, and, like most scholars, cared little 
for dress now that, alas! his wife, who had looked 
after him so tenderly, was dead. Old Norton 
Homfray was of simple tastes and few wants. His 
whole soul was in the welfare of his parish, and 
in consequence the parish held him up as a real 
fine old fellow. 

‘‘ Well, Roddy, what you’ve told me is, of course, 
most astounding—almost incredible. On that night 


68 The Voice from the Void 

you walked home with Miss Sandys—eh? She came 
here and told me so herself.’’ 

“ She came here! Elma here!” cried Roddy, 
quickly stirring himself from his chair and becoming 
alert. “ What did she say ? ” 

‘‘ She heard 'that you were missing, and she came 
to tell me of her walk home to the Towers with 
you.” 

‘‘ .Yes. And—and what did she say about 
me?” the young man asked with quick eager¬ 
ness. 

“ Nothing. Only she seemed greatly surprised 

and upset,” his father replied. “ But—well-” 

And he hesitated. 

Well—go on,” the young man said. 

‘‘ Well, look here, Roddy, after leaving Miss 
Sandys, did you meet anyone else —a man in the 
Guildford road ? ” 

“A .man? No. Why? Haven’t I told you I 
walked straight home? What are you trying to 
make out ? ” 

'‘You are quite certain that you did not stop 

and speak with any stranger in the Guildford 
road ? ” 

“I am quite certain that I did not. I spoke 
to nobody till I found the girl dying in Welling" 
Wood.” 

“And—well, now let me at once be frank with 
you, Roddy: have you ever in your life heard the 
name of Gordon Gray?” 

“ Never. Who is he ? ” 

“No matter. Recollect the name, and if you 



Mists of Memory 69 

ever hear it, avoid him—avoid him, my boy, as 
you would Satan himself. And his woman friend 
Freda Crisp.’’ 

‘‘Freda Crisp? Oh! I fancy I’ve met her 
—been introduced to her somewhere or other 
about a year ago. In South America, I believe, 
but I really can’t remember. A fine handsome 
woman, who always dresses beautifully, and who 
is a topping dancer. Always has lots of men 
about her. Yes. I have a recollection of her, 
but I don’t just now recall where we met. In 
travelling I meet so many people, dad, as you 
know.” 

“ Yes, of course, my boy; but if you ever meet 
her again, remember my words.” 

“ That Miss Sandys should come and see you, 
dad, is peculiar. Why did she come? What in¬ 
terest can she possibly have in me, except—well, 
perhaps it is the wireless. She told me she was 
very interested in it, and possibly she has heard 
that I’m an experimenter—eh ? ” 

“ Probably so,” laughed the old clergyman. 
“ But hearing you were coming home to-day, she 
sent me a message to say that she is calling here 
at five.” 

“ Jolly good of her! ” replied the young man, 
suddenly raising his head, which seemed to be 
bursting. “ It’s now nearly four. I think I’ll 
go up and have a lie down till she comes,” and 
so saying he ascended the stairs to his own 
room. 

Just before five o’clock Elma Sandys, a dainty 


70 The Voice from the Void 

figure in furs, was ushered into the study by Mrs. 
Bentley, and was greeted by the rector, who, shaking 
her hand, said: 

“ It’s really awfully kind of you to come and 
see my poor son. Miss Sandys. Frankly, I hardly 
know what to make of him. His mind seems 
entirely upset in some way. He talks wildly, and 
tells me of some terrible tragedy which occurred 
in Welling Wood on the night of his disappear¬ 
ance.” 

''Tragedy! What?” asked the girl quickly. 

" He will tell you all about it. The story is 
a very strange one. I would rather he told you 
himself.” 

The girl sank into the wide wicker arm-chair 
which the old man pulled up to the fire, and then 
he left to summon his son. 

When Roddy entered the room Elma, jump¬ 
ing up, saw instantly that he seemed still half 
dazed. She took his hand and instinctively 
realized that his gaze was fixed and strange. His 
friend Denton had seen him soon after his return, 
and declared him to be suffering from some 
potent drug which had apparently affected him 
mentally. 

" Hulloa, Miss Sandys! ” exclaimed the young 
man cheerily. "Well! I’m in a pretty pickle— 
as you see—eh? What’s happened I can’t make 
out. People seem to think I’m not quite in my 
right senses,” and then, grinning, he added: "Per¬ 
haps I’m not—and perhaps I am.” 

" But, Mr. Homfray, I’ve been awfully worried 


71 


Mists of Memory 

about you/’ the girl said, facing him and gazing 
again into his pale drawn face. “ You disappeared, 
and we had an awful shock, all of us. You left 
me at the end of the avenue and nobody saw you 
again! 

“ Well,” said the young fellow, with a sorry 
attempt at laughing, “ somebody must have seen 
me, no doubt, or I shouldn’t have been found in 
this precious state. What happened to me I haven’t 
the slightest notion. You see, I came up the 
village and went on through Welling Wood, and— 
well, as I went along I heard a strange cry, and 
in the darkness found a girl lying under a tree. 
I went to her, and as I did so, she cried out to 
me to save her. The whole affair was unusual, 
wasn’t it? I bent and took her up, and—the poor 
girl sank in my arms.” 

‘‘ Sank ? Did she die ? ” asked the great financier’s 
daughter. 

“ Yes, she did.” 

The rector, who stood near his writing-table, 
exchanged glances with their pretty visitor. They 
were meaning glances. Old Mr. Homfray was 
somewhat puzzled why the daughter of Purcell 
Sandys should be so deeply interested in his son. 
Yet, of course, young people will be ever young 
people, and deep pockets are of no account where 
Love is concerned. Love and Lucre have now 
happily been divorced in our post-war get-ahead 
world. 

“ But tell me, Mr. Homfray, what was she like ? 


72 The Voice from the Void 

Who could she be to be in Welling Wood at that 
hour?’^ 

“ Ah! I don’t know,” was the young fellow’s 
half-dazed reply. *‘I only know what happened 
to me, how I dashed away to reach home and 
raise the alarm, and suddenly saw what appeared 
to be a ball of fire before me. Then I knew no 
more till I found myself in hospital at Pang- 
bourne. A man, they say, found me lying near 
the towing-path by the Thames. I was in the 
long grass—left there to die, Doctor Maynard 
believes.” 

“ But you must have been in somebody’s hands 
for days,” his father remarked. 

Yes,” said the young man, “I know. Though 
I can recollect nothing at all—distinctly. Some 
incidents seem to be coming back to me. I have 
just a faint idea of two persons—a man and a 
woman. They were well-dressed and lived in a 
big old house. And—and they made me do some¬ 
thing. Ah! I—I can’t recall it, only—only I 
know that the suggestion horrified me! ” And 
he gave vent to a strange cry and his eyes glared 
with terror at the recollection. “Ah! the—the 
brutes—they forced me to—to do something— 
to-” 

“To do what?” asked the girl, taking his 
hand softly and looking into his pale, drawn 
face. 

“ It is all a strange misty kind of recollection,” 
he declared, staring stonily in front of him. “ I 
can see them—yes! I can see both of them—the 



Mists of Memory 73 

woman—she—yes!—she held my hand while—she 
guided my hand when I did it! ” 

“ Did what ? ” asked Elma in a slow, calm voice, 
as though trying to soothe him. 

“ I—I—I can’t recollect! Only—only he 

died! ” 

“ Died! Who died ? ” gasped the old rector, who 
at the mention of the man and the woman at once 
wondered again whether Gordon Gray and Freda 
Crisp were in any way implicated. “ You surely 
did not commit—murder ! ” 

The young man seated in his chair sat for a few 
seconds, silent and staring. 

“ Murder! I—yes, I saw him! I would 
recognize him. Murder, perhaps—oh, perhaps 
I—I killed him! That woman made me do 
it!” 

The rector and the pretty daughter of Purcell 
Sandys exchanged glances. Roddy was no doubt 
still under the influence of some terrible, baneful 
drug. Was his mind wandering, or wa^s there 
some grain of truth in those misty, horrifying 
recollections ? 

‘‘ Fm thirsty,” he said a moment later; “ very 
thirsty.” 

His father went out at once to obtain a glass 
of water, whereupon Elma, advancing closely to 
the young man, drew from her little bag a photo¬ 
graph. 

'‘Hush! Mr. Homfray! Don’t say a word. 
But look at this! Do you recognize it?” she whis¬ 
pered in breathless anxiety. 


74 The Voice from the Void 

He glanced at it as she held it before his bewil¬ 
dered eyes. 

“ Why—^yes! ” he gasped, staring at her in blank 
amazement. “ That’s—that’s the girl I found in 
Welling Wood!” 


CHAPTER VII 


THE GIRL NAMED EDNA 

** Hush ! ” cried Elma. “Say nothing at present.” 

And next instant the old rector re-entered 
with a glass of water which his son drank with 
avidity. 

Then he sat staring straight into the fire without 
uttering a word. 

“ Is your head better ? ” asked the girl a moment 
later; and she slipped the photograph back into 
her bag. 

“ Yes, just a little better. But it still aches 
horribly,” Roddy replied. “ Pm anxious to get to 
that spot in the wood.” 

“ To-morrow,” his father promised. “ It’s already 
dark now. And to-morrow you will be much 
better.” 

“ And I’ll come with you,” Miss Sandys vol¬ 
unteered. “ The whole affair is certainly most 
mysterious.” 

“Yes. Neither Denton nor the doctor at Pang- 
bourne can make out the nature of the drug that 
was given to me. It seems to have upset the 
balance of my brain altogether. But I recollect 
that house—the man and the woman and—^and how 
she compelled me to do her bidding to-” 

“ To what ? ” asked the girl. 

75 



76 The Voice from the Void 

The young mining engineer drew a long breath 
and shook his head despairingly. 

'' I hardly know. Things seem to be going 
round. When I try to recall it I become be¬ 
wildered.” 

‘‘ Then don’t try to remember,” urged his father 
in a sympathetic voice. “ Remain quiet, my boy, 
and you will be better to-morrow.” 

The young fellow looked straight at the sweet¬ 
faced girl standing beside his chair. He longed 
to ask her how she became possessed of that photo¬ 
graph—to ask the dead girl’s name. But she had 
imposed silence upon him. 

“We will go together to the spot to-morrow, 
Miss Sandys,” he said. People think I’m telling 
a fairy story about the girl. But I assure you I’m 
not. I held her in my arms and stroked her hair 
from her face. I remember every incident of that 
tragic discovery.” 

“Very well,” said the girl. “I’ll be here at ten 
o clock, and we will go together. Now remain 
quiet and rest,” she urged with an air of solici¬ 
tude. “ Don’t worry about anything—about any¬ 
thing whatever,” she added with emphasis. “We 
shall clear up this mystery and bring your enemies 
to book without a doubt.” 

And with that Roddy Horn fray had to be satis¬ 
fied, for a few moments later she buttoned up her 
warm fur coat and left, while old Mrs. Bentley 
went upstairs and prepared his bed. 

His friend Denton called again after he had re¬ 
tired, and found him much better. 


77 


The Girl Named Edna 

‘‘.You're pulling round all right, Roddy," he 
laughed. “ You’ll be your old self again in a day 
or two. But what really happened to you seems 
a complete enigma. You evidently fell into very 
bad hands for they gave you a number of injec¬ 
tions—as your arm shows. But what they admin¬ 
istered I can’t make out. They evidently gave you 
something which acted on your brain and muddled 
it, while at the same time you were capable of 
physical action, walking, and perhaps talking quite 
rationally." 

Then Roddy told his chum the doctor of the 
weird but misty recollections which from time to 
time arose within him of having been compelled 
to act as the handsome woman had directed. 
Exactly what he did he could not recall—except 
that he felt certain that while beneath the woman’s 
influence he had committed some great and terrible 
crime. 

“ Bah! my dear Roddy!" laughed Denton as he 
sat beside the other’s bed. “ Your nerves are all 
wrong and awry. After those mysterious doses 
you’ve had no wonder you’re upset, and your imagina¬ 
tion has grown so vivid." 

“ I tell you it isn’t imagination!" cried Roddy 
in quick protest. “ I know that the whole thing 
sounds utterly improbable, but—well, perhaps to¬ 
morrow—perhaps to-morrow I can give you some 
proof." 

“ Of what! " 

“Of the identity of the girl I found dying in 
Welling Wood." 


78 The Voice from the Void 

Hubert Denton smiled incredulously, and patting 
his friend upon the shoulder, said: 

‘‘ All right, my dear fellow. Go to sleep. A good 
, rest will do you a lot of good. I’ll see you in the 
morning.” 

The doctor left and Roddy Homfray, tired and 
exhausted after an exciting day, dropped off to sleep 
—a sleep full of strange, fantastic dreams in which 
the sweet calm face of Elma Sandys appeared ever 
and anon. 

Next morning at about nine o’clock, when Roddy 
awakened to find the weather bright and crisp, he 
called his father, and said: 

“ I don’t want Inspector Freeman to know about 
what I’ve told you—about the girl in Welling 
Wood.” 

“ Certainly not,” replied the quiet old rector 
reassuringly. “ That is your own affair. They 
found nothing when they searched the wood for 
you.” 

“ Perhaps they didn’t look in the right spot,” 
remarked his son. “Elma will be here at ten, 
and we’ll go together—alone—you don’t mind, 
father? ” 

“ Not in the least, my boy,” laughed the old 
man. “ Miss Sandys seems deeply distressed con¬ 
cerning you.” 

“Does she?” asked Roddy, with wide open 
eyes. “ Do you really thinks she is ? Or is it 
the mystery of the affair which appeals to her? 
Mystery always appeals to women in a greater 
sense than to men. Every mystery case in the 


The Girl Named Edna 79 

newspapers is read by ten women to one man, they 
say/’ 

“ Perhaps. But I think Miss Sandys evinces a 
real interest in you, Roddy, because you are 
ill and the victim of mysterious circumstances,” he 
said. 

Over the old man’s mind rested the shadow of 
that unscrupulous pair. Gray and the woman 
Crisp. Had they done some of their devil’s work 
upon his beloved son? He had forgiven them 
their threats and their intentions, but he remained 
calm to wait, to investigate, and to point the finger 
of denunciation against them if their villainy were 
proved. 

At ten o’clock Elma Sandys arrived upon her 
motor-cycle, which she constantly used for short 
distances when alone. Though in the garage her 
father had two big cars, and she had her own smart 
little two-seater in which she frequently ran up to 
London and back, yet she enjoyed her cycle, which 
she used with a fearlessness begotten of her practice 
during the war when she had acted as a driver in 
the Air Force at Oxford—one of the youngest who 
had taken service, be it said. 

As soon as she arrived she helped Roddy into 
his coat, and both went down the Rectory garden, 
climbed the fence, walked across the paddock, 
and at last entered the wood with its brown 
frosted bracken and thick evergreen undergrowth. 
Through the half-bare branches, for the weather 
had been mild, the blue sky shone, though the 
wintry sun was not yet up, and as Roddy led 


8 o The Voice from the Void 

the way carefully towards the footpath, he warned 
his pretty conij>anion to have a care as there were 
a number of highly dangerous but concealed holes 
from which gravel had been dug fifty years or so 
ago, the gulfs being now covered with tl'ie under¬ 
growth. 

Scarcely had he spoken ere she stumbled and 
narrowly escaped being precipitated into a hole in 
which water showed deep below through the tangled 
briars. 

Soon they reached the footpath along which he 
had gone in the darkness on that fatal Sunday night. 
He paused to take his bearings. He recognized the 
thick, stout trunk of a high Scotch fir, the only one 
in the wood. His flash-lamp had shone upon it, he 
remembered, just at the moment when he had heard 
the woman’s cries. 

He halted, reflected for a few moments, and then 
struck out into the undergrowth, confident that he 
was upon the spot where the unknown girl had 
sunk dying into his arms. Elma, who watched, fol¬ 
lowed him. He scarcely spoke, so fully absorbed 
was he in his quest. 

At last he crossed some dead and broken bracken, 
and said: 

Here! This is where I found her! ” 

His pretty companion halted at his side and gazed 
about her. There was nothing save a tangle of 
undergrowth and dead ferns. Above were high 
bare oaks swaying slowly in the wintry wind. 

\Vell, said Elma at last. * There’s nothing here 
is there?” 


The Girl Named Edna 8i 

He turned and looked her straight in the face, 
his expression very serious. 

“No. There is nothing, I admit. Nothing! And 
yet a great secret lies here. Here, this spot, remote 
from anywhere, was the scene of a mysterious 
tragedy. You hold one clue, Elma—and I the other.” 
And again he looked straight into her eyes, while 
standing on that very spot where the fair-haired 
girl had breathed her last in his arms, and then, 
after a few seconds’ silence, he went on: “ Elma 1 
I—I call you by your Christian name because I feel 
that you have my fu4;ure at heart, and—and I, on 
my part—I love you! May I call you by your 
Christian name?” 

She returned his look very gravely. Her fine 
eyes met his, but he never wavered. Since that 
first day when Tweedles, her little black Pomer¬ 
anian, had snapped at him she had been ever in his 
thoughts. He could not disguise the fact. Yet, after 
all, it was a very foolish dream, he had told himself 
dozens of times. He was poor—very poor—a mere 
adventurer on life’s troublous waters—while she was 
the daughter of a millionaire with, perhaps, a peeress’ 
career before her. 

“ Roddy,” at last she spoke, “ I call you that! 
I think of you as Roddy,” she said slowly, looking 
straight into his eyes. “ But in this matter we are 
very serious—both of us—eh?” 

“ Certainly we are, Elma,” he replied, taking her 
hand passionately. 

She withdrew it at once, saying: 

“ You have brought me here for a purpose—to 



82 The Voice from the Void 


find traces of—of the girl who died at this spot. 
Where are the traces?’’ 

Well, the bracken is trodden down, as j^ou see,” he 
replied. 

But surely that is no evidence of what you 
allege ? ” 

No, Elma. But that photograph which you 
showed me last night is a picture of her.” 

The girl smiled mysteriously. 

“You say so. How am I to know? They say 
that you are unfortunately suffering from delusions. 
In that case sight of any photograph would possibly 
strike a false chord in your memory.” 

“ False chord! ” he cried. “ Do you doubt this 
morning that I am in my sane senses ? Do you 
doubt that which I have just said, Elma—do you 
doubt that I love you ? ” 

The girl’s cheeks flushed instantly at his words. 
Next second they were pale again. 

“ No,” she said. “ Please don’t let us talk of 
love, Mr. Homfray.” 

“ Roddy—call me that.” 

“ Well—yes, Roddy, if you like.” 

“ I do like. You told me that you thought of 
me as Roddy. Can you never love me ? ” he im¬ 
plored. 

The girl held her breath. Her heart was beat¬ 
ing quickly and her eyes were turned away. She 
let him take her gloved hand and raise it fervently 
to his lips. Then, without answering his ques¬ 
tion, she turned her splendid eyes to his and he 
saw in them a strange, mysterious expression such 


The Girl Named Edna 83 

as he had never noticed in the eyes of any woman 
before. 

He thought it was a look of sympathy and trust, 
but a moment later it seemed as thought she doubted 
him—she was half afraid of him. 

“ Elma! he cried, still holding her hand. Tell 
me—tell me that you care for me a little—just 
a little! ” And he gazed imploringly into her pale 
face. 

“ A little! ” she echoed softly. Perhaps—well, 
perhaps I do, Roddy. But—^but do not let us speak 
of it now—not until you are better.” 

“ Ah! You do love me a little,” he cried with 
delight, again raising her hand to his lips. “ Per¬ 
haps you think Fve not recovered from that infernal 
drug which my unknown enemies gave me. But 
I declare that to-day I am in my full senses—all 
except my memory—which is still curiously at 
fault.” 

“Let us agree to be very good friends, Roddy,” 
the girl said, pressing his hand. “ I confess that 
I like you very much,” she admitted, “ but love is 
quite another matter. We have not known each other 
very long, remember.” 

“ Sufficiently long for me to know that I love 
you truly, and most dearly, Elma,” the young man 
declared with keen enthusiasm 

Then the girl sighed, withdrew her hand, and 
begged of him to drop the subject. 

“I have told you that I care for you just a 
little, Roddy,” she said. ‘‘For the present let that 

suffice.” 


84 The Voice from the Void 

She was obdurate, refusing to discuss the matter 
further. Instead, she began to question him closely 
concerning the events of that fatal night. 

Again he repeated them, just as they have been 
recorded in the foregoing pages. 

Then it is evident that you were watched,'' she 
remarked. Whoever was responsible for the crime 
attacked you by some secret means. Then both of 
you were taken away." 

‘‘By whom? To where? That's the mystery!" 
Roddy echoed blankly. 

“A mystery which must be fathomed. And I 
will help you," she said quietly. 

“ You know the identity of the poor girl," he 
said. “ How did you come by her photograph ?" 
he asked, a question he had been dying to put to 
her ever since the previous evening. 

She was silent. 

“You know more of the affair than you have 
admitted, Elma," he suggested in a low voice, his 
eyes still fixed upon her pale countenance. “ Is my 
surmise correct ? " 

It is, she replied in a strange half-whisper. 

“ I have no actual knowledge," she hastened to add. 
“But I have certain grim and terrible surmises." 

“ You were anxious that my father should not see 
that photograph last night. Why ? " 

“Well—well, because I did not wish to—I didn't 
wish him to think that I was unduly exciting you 
by showing you the portrait," she faltered. 

He looked at her, struck by her curious evasive” 
ness. 


The Girl Named Edna 85 

“ And was there no other reason, Elma ? ’’ asked 
the young man in deep earnestness. 

Again she hesitated. 

“ Yes. There was another reason,” she re¬ 
plied. “One that I regret I cannot at present tell 
you.” 

“You refuse to satisfy my curiosity—eh?” 

“ I am compelled to refuse,” she replied in a low 
voice. 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Because, as yet, I have only suspicions and 
surmises. When I have proved even one of them 
then I shall not hesitate to tell you the truth, 
Roddy—a bitter and terrible truth though it may 
be.” 

“ Really you are most mysterious! ” her companion 
said, his face darkening. 

“ I know I am,” she answered with a queer hollow 
laugh. 

“ But at least you can tell me the dead girl’s 
name ? ” 

“ I only know her Christian name. It is 
Edna.” 

“You knew her personally?” 

“ Well—yes. I have met her.” 

“ In what circumstances ? ” 

“ Curious ones. Very curious ones,” the girl 
replied. “ If my surmises are correct, Roddy, we 
are face to face with one of the strangest problems 
of crime that has ever arisen in our modern world,” 
she added. “ But until I am able to substantiate 
certain facts I can tell you nothing—nothing, much 


86 The Voice from the Void 

as I desire to in order to place you upon your 
guard.” 

‘‘ What, am I still in peril ? ” 

'‘.Yes, I believe you are—in very great peril. So 
beware of yet another trap which may be cun¬ 
ningly laid for you by those who may pose as your 
friends.” 

And the girl, taking her companion’s hand, 
gripped it between hers, and looking into his face, 
added: 

“ Roddy, trust me. Don’t ask me for facts which 
I cannot give. There are reasons—very strong rea¬ 
sons—that compel me for the moment to remain 
silent. So trust me! ” 


CHAPTER VIII 


FEARS AND SURPRISES 

Three nights later. 

Over the steps which led from the pavement in 
Park Lane to the front door of Mr. Sandys’ huge 
white mansion an awning had been erected. The 
people who went by upon the motor-’buses to 
Oxford Stireet or to Hyde Park Corner noted it, 
and remarked that Purcell Sandys was giving 
one of his usual parties—functions at which the 
smartest set in high Society attended; gatherings 
which were always announced by the Times on 
the day previous and chronicled—with the dresses 
worn by the female guests—on the morning fol¬ 
lowing. 

The huge white-painted mansion which was so 
well known to Londoners was to them, after all, 
a house of mystery. The gossip papers had told 
them how the famous financier—one of England’s 
pillars of finance—spent three hundred pounds 
weekly on the floral decorations of the place; how 
the rooms, the mahogany doors of which had silver 
hinges, were full of priceless curios, and how each 
Wednesday night the greatest musical artistes in 
the world were engaged to play for the benefit of 
his guests at fees varying from five hundred to a 
thousand guineas. 


87 


88 The Voice from the Void 

All this was the truth. The Wednesday night 
entertainments of Purcell Sandys were unique. 
Nobody in all the world was so lavish upon music 
or upon floral decorations. The grey-bearded old 
man, who usually wore a rather shabby suit, and 
habitually smoked a pipe, gave his guests the very 
best he could, for he loved flowers—as his great 
range of hot-houses at Famcombe Towers and at 
Biarritz testified—while good music always absorbed 
his senses. 

Cars were constantly arriving, depositing the guests, 
and driving on again, while the servants in the wide, 
flower-decorated hall were passing to and fro, busy 
with the hats and coats of the men, and conducting 
the ladies upstairs. 

Through the hall came strains of dance music from 
the fine ballroom at the back of the house, one of 
the finest in the West End of London. 

At the head of the great staircase Elma, in a 
simple but pretty frock of pale lemon, was doing 
the duty of hostess, as she always did, while her 
father, a burly, grey-bearded, rather bluflf man in 
a well-fitting but well-worn evening suit, was grasp¬ 
ing the hands of his friends warmly, and welcoming 
them. 

On the opposite side of the road, against the 
railings of Hyde Park, a young man was stand¬ 
ing, watching the procession of cars, watching with 
wistful eyes as he stood with half a dozen others 
attracted by the commotion, as is always the case 
outside the mansions of the West End where a party 
is in progress. 


Fears and Surprises 89 

The young man was Roddy Homfray. As a 
matter of fact, he had passed in a ’bus towards 
Hyde Park Comer, and seeing the awning outside 
Mr. Sandys’ house, had alighted and out of sheer 
curiosity made his way back. At his side were 
two young girls of the true Cockney type, who 
were criticizing each female guest as she arrived, 
and declaring what a joy it must be to be 
able to wear fine clothes and go to parties in a 
car. 

Roddy was just about to turn away and cross 
to Waterloo to take the last train home, when among 
the cars he saw a fine grey Rolls in which a man 
and a woman were seated. Next second he craned 
his neck, and then crossed the road to obtain a nearer 
view of the pair. 

“ Yes,” he gasped aloud to himself, ** that’s 
the woman. I’m certain! And the man? 
No, I’m not quite so sure. He was older, I 
think.” 

Unseen, he narrowly watched the tallish, dark¬ 
haired, clean-shaven man alight, and saw him help 
out his companion, who was about forty, and wore 
a fur-trimmed evening wrap of gorgeous brocade 
and a beautiful diamond ornament in her dark 
hair. 

No! I’m not mistaken 1 ” the young man mut¬ 
tered again to himself. That’s the woman, without 
a doubt. But surely she can’t be a friend of Mr. 
Sandys!” 

That she was, was instantly proved by the fact 
that she ascended the red-carpeted steps, followed 


90 The Voice from the Void 

by her companion, and they were received within 
by the bowing man-servant. 

He watched them disappear, and a few moments 
afterwards he boldly mounted the steps to the 
door, where his passage was at once barred by a 
flunkey. 

“ I don’t want to come in,” said Roddy, in a 
low, confidential tone. Do me a favour, will you ? 
I’ll make it right with you. I want to know the 
names of that lady and gentleman who’ve this 
moment gone in.” 

The servant viewed him rather suspiciously, and 
replied: 

“ Well, I don’t know them myself, for I haven’t 
been here long—only a week. But I’ll try to find 
out if you’ll come back, say, in a quarter of an 
hour.” 

“ Yes, do,” urged Roddy. ‘‘ It’s most important 
to me.” 

And then he slipped back down the steps and 
strolled along Park Lane, full of strange reflec¬ 
tions. 

That woman! It was the same woman of his 
hideous nightmare—the dark-faced woman who had 
held him beneath her evil influence, and forced 
him to commit some act against his will. But exactly 
what act it was he could not for the life of him 
recall. Sometimes he had an idea that he had been 
forced into the committal of a terrible crime, while 
at others the recollections all seemed so vague and 
fantastic that he dismissed them as the mere vagaries 
of an upset mind. 



91 


Fears and Surprises 

But he had found the woman. She was a friend 
of the Sandys! And did not Elma hold the photo¬ 
graph of the girl Edna, whom he had discovered in 
Welling Wood. The circumstances were more than 
strange! 

A quarter of an hour later he returned to the 
house, and on slipping a ten-shilling note sur¬ 
reptitiously into the hand of the servant the latter 
said: 

“ The gentleman’s name is Mr. Bertram Har¬ 
rison, and the lady—a widow—is Mrs. Freda 
Crisp.” 

“Freda Crisp!” he echoed aghast. 

“ Yes. That’s the name Mr. Hughes, the butler, 
told me,” the flunkey declared. 

Roddy Homfray turned away. Freda Crisp! 
How amazing! That was the name of the woman 
against whom his father had warned him. That 
woman was undoubtedly his enemy. Why? 
Could it be possible that she was Fima’s enemy 
also? Was it possible that Elma, with the knowl¬ 
edge of the girl Edna, who had died in the wood 
and so mysteriously disappeared, suspected that 
handsome dark-haired woman of being implicated in 
the crime? 

He recollected Fima’s curious reticence con¬ 
cerning the girl, and her refusal to make any 
allegations before she had ascertained and proved 
certain facts. 

He crossed the road and, halting, gazed 
through the railings out across the dark London 
park where in the distance the Hghts were 


92 The Voice from the Void 

twinkling among the bare branches. The night was 
cold, for a keen east wind had sprung up. He 

hesitated. 

To remain the night in London would bring 
the truth no nearer, for with the gay party in 
progress he could not enter there in the clothes he 
wore. And besides, he had not yet met Lima's 
father. He longed to go there and watch the 

movements of that dark, gorgeously-dressed 
woman who had exercised such a strangely evil 

influence over him while he was in the grip of 
that mysterious drug. Who was she ? Why had 

she and her companion held him in their toils for 
days, and then cast him aside at that remote spot 
by the Thames, hoping that he would die during 
the night? 

What did it all mean? 

He glanced at his watch, and saw that if he took 
a taxi he might just catch the last train. And this 
he did. 

It was long after midnight when he entered the 
silent old Rectory and found his father bent beneath 
the green-shaded reading lamp which stood on the 
study table. 

The rector had been busy writing for hours— 
ever since old Mrs. Bentley had cleared away his 
supper and wished him good-night. 

Roddy, throwing oft his coat, sank wearily 
into the wicker arm-chair before the welcome fire 
and took out his pipe, his father continuing writing 
his next Sunday's sermon after briefly greeting 
him. 


Fears and Surprises 93 

As the young man smoked, he reflected, until at 
last he suddenly said: 

“ Haven’t you finished your work, father ? It’s 
getting very late.” 

“Just finished—just finished, my boy!” said the 
old man cheerily, screwing up his fountain-pen. 
“ I’ve had a heavy day to-day—out visiting nearly 
all day. There’s a lot of sickness in the village, 
you know.” 

“ Yes. And the Sandys are away in town, aren’t 
they?” 

“ They went up yesterday. Mr. Sandys and his 
daughter are always at Park Lane on Wednesdays, 
I understand. I saw in the paper this morning 
that the party to-night has a rather political flavour, 
for two Cabinet Ministers and their wives are to be 
there.” 

“ I suppose Mr. Sandys must be very 
rich?” 

“ Immensely, they say. I heard the other day 
that he is one of the confidential advisers of the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer, and he’ll probably get 
a peerage before long,” said his father. “ But, after 
all, he is not one of your modern, get-rich-quick 
men. He’s a real, solid. God-fearing man, who 
though so very wealthy does a large amount of good 
in a quiet, unostentatious way. Only three days 
ago he gave me a cheque for two hundred pounds 
and asked me to distribute it to the poor people at 
Christmas, but on no condition is his name to be 
mentioned to a soul. So keep the information to 
yourself, Roddy.” 



94 The Voice from the Void 

“Of course I will,” his son replied, puffing at his 
pipe. 

“ Mr. Sandys asked about you,” said the rector. 
“ I am to take you to the Towers to dine one night 
very soon.” 

“ I shall be delighted. Old Lord Farncombe asked 
me when I was last at home. Don’t you re¬ 
member ? ” 

“ Of course,” said his father. “ But how have 
you been feeling to-day ? All right, I hope ? ” 

“ I feel quite right again now,” replied the young 
man. Then, after a brief pause, he removed his 
pipe and looked straight across at his father as in 
a rather changed voice he said: “ Do you recollect, 
dad, the other day you spoke of a certain woman, 
and warned me against her?” 

“Yes,” said the old rector very seriously. “You 
recollect her name, I hope—Freda Crisp. Never 
forget that name, Roddy, never I” 

“Why ? ” 

“ Because she is my enemy, my boy—and 
yours,” replied the old man, in a hard, strained 
voice. 

“ Why should she be ? I don’t know the 
lady.” 

“ You said that you had some recollection of 
her in South America,” the old clergyman re¬ 
marked. 

“ It isn’t the same woman.” 

“ Oh! How do you know ? ” asked his father, 
glancing at him quickly. 

“ Because I’ve seen the real Freda Crisp—the 


Fears and Surprises 95 

woman who you say is my enemy. I saw her 
to-night.” 

‘'You’ve seen her! Where?” asked Mr. Homfray 
eagerly. 

“ She is the woman I see in my bad dreams— 
those hazy recollections of the hours when I was 
drugged—handsome, dark-haired, middle-aged, and 
wears wonderful gowns.” 

“ Exactly! The description is quite correct, 
Roddy. But where did you see her to-night ? ” 

“ She is at Mr. Sandys’.” 

“ At Mr. Sandys’ ? ” gasped his father. “ You are 
surely mistaken! Freda Crisp would never have the 
entree there! ” 

“ But she has, father! I saw her go in—with 
an elderly man whose name is Bertram Harrison.” 

“ I’ve never heard of him. But are you quite 
certain of this, Roddy? Are you positive that the 
woman is actually on friendly terms with Mr. 
Sandys ?” 

Then Roddy explained to his father exactly what 
had occurred, and how he had obtained the name 
of the handsome guest. 

“ Well—what you tell me, my boy, utterly staggers 
me! ” the old man admitted. “ I never dreamed 
that the woman knew Purcell Sandys. I told you 
to beware of her, and I repeat my warning. She 
is a woman whose eyes are as fascinating as those 
of a snake, and whose hand-shake is as fatal as a 
poisoned dart.” 

“Really, dad, you don’t seem to like her, eh?” 

“ No, my boy, I don’t. I have cause—good cause. 


96 The Voice from the Void 

alas! to hold her in abhorrence—as your enemy 
and mine! ’’ 

“ But why? I can't understand you. You've never 
spoken of her till the other day." 

Because I—well, the secret is mine, Roddy." 

‘‘ Yours," said his son. Is it one that I may not 
know ? " 

'‘Yes. I would prefer to say nothing more," he 
answered briefly. 

" Nothing more concerning a woman who held me 
for days beneath her evil influence, helpless as a 
babe in her unscrupulous hands—a woman who com¬ 
pelled me to-" 

"To what, Roddy?" asked his father very 
quickly, and with difficulty controlling his own 
emotion. 

"To commit some crime, I fear. But I cannot 
tell—I cannot decide exactly what I did—or how 
I acted. All seems so vague, indistinct and mys¬ 
terious ! All I remember is that woman's hand¬ 
some face—that pair of dark, evil eyes!" 

" Yes," remarked the old man in a deep voice. 
" They are evil. The man is bad enough—but the 
woman is even worse." 

" The man Harrison ? " 

" No. Gordon Gray. You have not met him." 

" Perhaps I have. Perhaps he was the man with 
Mrs. Crisp at the house where I was held in bondage 
—a big house standing in its own grounds—but 
where it is situated, I have no idea." 

" Perhaps," said his father reflectively. "Describe 
him." 



97 


Fears and Surprises 

Roddy Homfray strove to recall the salient points 
of the woman's male companion, and as far as his 
recollection went he described them. 

“ Yes," said the rector, his grey brows knit. It 
may have been Gordon Gray! But why did they 
make that secret attack upon you, if not in order 
to injure me?" 

“ Because I discovered the girl in the wood. 
They evidently intended to cover all traces of the 
crime. But how did they come to Welling Wood 
at all ? " 

His father remained silent. He had said nothing 
of the woman’s secret visit to him, nor of Gray’s 
presence in the church on that Sunday night. He 
kept his own counsel, yet now he fully realized the 
dastardly trap set for his son, and how, all uncon¬ 
sciously, the lad had fallen into it. 

Only that afternoon Doctor Denton had called, 
and they had taken tea together. In the course of 
their conversation the doctor had told him how, 
when in London on the previous day, he had gone 
to an old fellow-student who was now a great 
mental specialist in Harley Street, and had had a 
conversation with him concerning Roddy’s case. 

After hearing all the circumstances and a close 
description of the symptoms, the specialist had 
given it as his opinion that the ball of fire which 
Roddy had seen was undoubtedly the explosion of 
a small bomb of asphyxiating gas which had ren¬ 
dered him unconscious. Afterwards a certain drug 
recently invented by a chemist in Darmstadt had, 
no doubt, been injected into his arms. This drug 


98 The Voice from the Void 

was a most dangerous and terrible one, for while 
it had no influence upon a person’s actions, yet it 
paralysed the brain and almost inevitably caused 
insanity. 

Roddy was practically cured, but the specialist 
had expressed a very serious fear that ere long signs 
of insanity would reappear, and it would then be 
incurable! 

It was that secret but terrible knowledge of his 
son’s imminent peril that old Mr. Homfray now held. 
His enemies had triumphed, after all! 

And this was made the more plain when three 
hours later he woke up to find his son in his room, 
chattering and behaving as no man in his senses 
would. 

The old man rose, and with clenched fists declared 
aloud that he would now himself fight for his son’s 
life and bring the guilty pair to justice. 

But, alas! the old rector never dreamed how diffi¬ 
cult would be his task, nor what impregnable defences 
had arisen to protect and aid those who were his 
enemies. 

In addition Roddy, in his half-dazed condition, 
never dreamed of the perils and pitfalls which now 
surrounded the girl he so dearly loved. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE spider's nest 

Ten days had gone by. 

Gordon Gray, wearing a grey Austrian velour 
hat and heavy brown motor-coat, turned the car 
from the Great North Road into the drive which 
led to the front of Willowden, and alighted. 

The afternoon was wet, and the drive from London 
had been a cold, uncomfortable one. In the hall 
he threw off his coat, and entering the well-fumished 
morning-room, rang the bell. In a few moments 
Claribut, respectable, white-haired and rosy-faced, 
entered. 

“Well, Jim?" he asked. “What's the news at 
Little Farncombe—eh? You've been there several 
days; what have you discovered ? " 

“ Several things," replied the old crook who posed 
as servant. “ Things we didn’t expect." 

“ How ?" asked Gray, offering the old man a 
cigarette from his gold case. 

“ Well, I went first to Pangboume, and then 
to Little Farncombe. Young Homfray was taken 
queer again. I stayed at the Red Lion, and 

managed to find out all about what was going 

on at the Rectory. Homfray’s old gardener is 

in the habit of taking his glass of beer there at 

night, and I, posing as a stranger, soon got him 

99 

) 

> 

y ’ ) 

) > 

> I y 


100 The Voice from the Void 


to talk. He told me that his young master was 
taken ill in the night. His brain had given way, 
and the village doctor called in a specialist from 
Harley Street. The latter can’t make out the symp¬ 
toms.” 

Probably not! ” growled Gray. The dose cost 
us a lot, so it ought not to be detected by the first 
man consulted.” 

The specialist has, however, fixed that he’s suf¬ 
fering from a drug—administered with malicious 
intent, he puts it.” 

What’s the fool’s name ? ” snapped Gray. 

‘‘ I don’t know. My friend, the gardener, could 
not ascertain.” 

Gray gave vent to a short grunt of dissatisfac¬ 
tion. 

“ Well—and what then ? ” 

‘‘ The young fellow was very ill—quite off his 
head for three days—and then they gave him some 
injections which quietened him, and now he’s a 
lot better. Nearer his normal self, I hear.” And 
he sank into a chair by the fire. 

“ H’m! He’ll probably have a second relapse. 
I wonder what they gave him? I wonder if 
this Harley Street chap has twigged our game, 
Jim?” 

“ Perhaps he has.” 

If so, then it’s a jolly good job for us that 
I kept out of the way. Young Homfray has never 
seen me to his knowledge, remember. He saw you 
several times.” 

“Yes, Gordon. You took precautions—as you 


The Spider’s Nest loi 

always do. You somehow seem to see into the 
future.” 

‘‘ I do, my dear Jimmie. I hope this lad 
doesn’t recognize Freda again. He may, of 
course. But he doesn’t know me—which is as 
well.” 

“ He recollects finding Edna, though.” 

“ Ah! That’s a little awkward, isn’t it ? ” 

Yes, it is. He told the old sky-pilot all 
about it, but naturally they think his mind is 

unhinged and take the story with a grain of 
salt.” 

‘‘Naturally. But what else?” asked the well- 
dressed international crook with a business-like 
air. 

“ It seems that the young fellow is on the point 
of obtaining a concession from the Moorish Gov¬ 
ernment to prospect for emeralds somewhere in the 
Atlas Mountains; I believe it is a place called the 
Wad Sus. Ever heard of it?” 

“ Yes,” replied Gray, making a mental note 
of the region. “ I’ve heard of some ancient 
mines there. But how is he obtaining the con¬ 

cession ? ” 

“Ah! I’ve had a lot of trouble to get that 

information, and it has cost me a pound or 
two. But I’ve got it,” laughed the old scoun¬ 
drel. 

“There’s a friend of his who lives at Rich¬ 

mond, a certain Andrew Barclay, who has spent 
many years in Fez. It seems that young Horn- 
fray met him in Santiago last year, and by some 


102 The Voice from the Void 

means was able to do him a great service. In 
return, this man Barclay is endeavouring to obtain 
the concession for prospecting from the Moorish 
Government.’^ 

“ H’m! The Wad Sus region—a very wild 
mountainous one, inhabited by a wild desert tribe 
called the Touaregs, men who wear black veils over 
their faces to protect them from the sand-storms 
so prevalent in the Sahara. But Fll look it all 
up. Where does this man Barclay live ? ” asked 
Gray. 

“ In Underhill Road. Where that is I don’t know 
—but, of course,' it is easily found.” 

The master-crook drew several long whiffs at his 
choice Eastern cigarette. 

Then, after all, it may be to our distinct 
advantage that Roderick Homfray recovers, 
Jimmie.” 

“ What! Then you think that the concession 
for the emerald prospecting may be worth 
money? ” 

‘‘ It may be worth quite a lot in the City. A 
rather attractive proposition—emeralds in the 
Sahara. I know two or three men who would 
take it up—providing I could bring them a properly 
signed and sealed concession. Emeralds are in¬ 
creasing in value nowadays, you know—and an 
emerald concession is a sound proposition. After 
all, the lad may yet be of considerable use to us, 

J * • 

immie. 

“ Pity he saw Freda! ” remarked the wily old 
fellow. “ Jimmie, the butler,” was well known in 


103 


The Spider’s Nest 

Sing-Sing Prison as one of the shrewdest and 
cleverest of crooks and card-sharpers who had ever 
worked ” the transatlantic liners. 

In the underworld of New York, Paris and 
London marvellous stories had been and were still 
told of his alertness, of the several bold coups 
he had made, and the great sums he had filched 
from the pockets of the unwary in conjunction, 
be it said, with Gordon Gray, alias Commander 
George Tothill, late of the British Navy, who was 
also known to certain of his pals as Toby 

Jackson. At Parkhurst Prison “ Joyous Jimmie ’’ 

was also well known, for he had enjoyed the 

English air for seven years less certain good 

conduct remission. But both master and man 

were crooks, clever cultured men who could delude 
anybody, who could adapt themselves to any sur¬ 
roundings, who knew life in all its phases, and 

could, with equanimity, eat a portion of oily fried 
fish-and-chips for their dinner or enjoy a Sole 

Colbert washed down with a glass of Imperial 

Tokay. 

The pair, with a man named Arthur Porter, known 
to his criminal friends as “ Guinness—whom, by 
the way, Roddy had seen entering Mr. Sandys" 
house in Park Lane—and the handsome woman 
Freda Crisp were indeed parasites upon London 
society. 

Their daring was colossal, their ingenuity astound¬ 
ing, and the ramifications of their friends be¬ 
wildering. 

“ Get me a drink, Jimmie,” said the man who 


104 The Voice from the Void 

posed as his master. “ I’m cold. Why the devil 
don’t you keep a better fire than this ? ” 

‘'The missus is out. Went to the parson’s wife’s 
tea-party half an hour ago. Mary goes to church 
here. It’s better.” 

“Of course it is—gives us a hall-mark of respect¬ 
ability,” laughed Gray. “ Freda goes now and 
then. But she gives money to the old parson and 
excuses herself for non-attendance on Sunday morn¬ 
ings. Oh! my dear Jimmie! ” he laughed. “ These 
people want a lot of moss scraping off them, don’t 
they—eh ? ” 

“ Moss! Why, it’s that hard, grey lichen with 
hairy flowers that grows on trees! They want it 
all scraped off, then rubbed with sandpaper and 
a rag and acid applied to put a bit of vim in them. 
It’s the same over all this faded old country— 
that’s my belief.” 

“ And yet some of them are infernally cute. 
That old man Homfray, for instance, he’s 
got his eyes skinned. He doesn’t forget 
that silly young ass Hugh Willard, you 
know 1 ” 

“No, Gordon! Don’t mention him. That’s 
one of our failures—one of our false steps,” 
declared Jimmie. “ I don’t like to hear any 
mention of his name—nor of Hyde Park Square 
either.” 

“ Rot! my dear fellow! What can the old 
clergyman know? Nothing. It’s all surmise— 
and what does that matter? There’s no trace, 
and-” 



The Spider’s Nest 105 

And we made a profit—and a fine lot of good it 
did us.” 

“ It was Freda’s doing. She worked it out.” 

“ I know. And, thanks to her, we are in the in¬ 
fernal peril we are to-day, my dear Gordon.” 

“ Peril ? Bosh! What are you thinking of, 
Jimmie ? ” laughed Gray. “ There’s not a written 
word.” 

“ But you know what old Horn fray said to Freda— 
what he threatened—a witness ! ” 

‘‘ Witness! ” laughed the good-looking man, tossing 
his cigarette end viciously into the fire. “ Don’t be¬ 
lieve it, my dear old chap. He was only trying to 
bluff her—and Freda knows a game worth two of that 
—the game we are playing with the old fool’s 
son.” 

‘‘ A highly dangerous game—I call it! ” was the but¬ 
ler’s dubious reply. 

“ Leave that to me.” 

“ But he might recognize me, Gordon! ” 

“ Rot! You won’t meet him.” 

“What about Freda?” 

“ Don’t worry. The boy was so dazed by the drug 
that he’ll never recognize her again. She tried to make 
him believe that he himself had committed a crime. 
And she succeeded.” 

“ Old Homfray may have told him about us and about 

the Willard affair. What then ? ” 

“ No fear of that. Old Homfray will say 
nothing to his son. He wouldn’t expKDse 
himself.” 

But Claribut shook his head in doubt. 


io6 The Voice from the Void 


“ My opinion is that we’re treading on very thin ice. 
I don’t like this house—and I don’t like the look of 
things at all.” 

“ The house is all right. Young Homfray 
can recollect nothing clearly after he found the 
girl.” 

“Of course, his friends are laughing at this 
weird story of how he discovered her,” said 
Claribut. “ But we don’t know whether, in some 
way or other, his story may be corroborated. 
And then-” 

“ Well, even then there’s no evidence to connect us 
with the affair. None whatever. We got them both 
clear away in the car, thanks to your marvellous in¬ 
genuity, Jimmie. And naturally he wonders where 
Edna is.” 

“ And so do two or three other people,” Claribut re¬ 
marked. “ Recollect there are some unwelcome in¬ 
quiries on foot in another quarter.” 

“ I don’t fear them in the least. All we have to 
do now is to sit tight and watch the young fellow’s 
movements. We want to ascertain what he is doing 
concerning that concession. We must discover that 
man Barclay at Richmond and find out what 'sort 
of fellow he is. I may have to approach him. 
We both of us know Morocco—eh, Jimmie? That 
little bit of gun-running helping the Moors 
against the Spanish was exciting enough—wasn’t 
it?” 

“Yes. And it brought us in big profits, too. I 
wish we had another slice of luck like it,” Qaribut 
agreed. 



The Spider’s Nest 107 

‘‘ Well, we may. Who knows ? I’ll see what I can 
find out about emeralds in Morocco.” 

At that moment the woman Crisp came in. 
She was wearing a long mink coat, with a 
splendid blue fox around her neck and a 
small grey velour hat which suited her to per¬ 
fection. 

“ Hallo, Gordon 1 Back again. How’s Paris look¬ 
ing ? ” 

“Looking? I was only there nine hours, just to 
see Frangillon. Good job I went. He didn’t see the 
risk. He’s slipped off to Switzerland, He left the 
Gare de Lyon at eleven this morning, and the Surete 
are now looking for him. He got off just in the nick 
of time.” 

“You came over by air, I suppose?” 

“ Yes, left Le Bourget at ten and was at Croydon 
just after twelve. I left the car at Croydon yester¬ 
day afternoon when I went over. Rather a bad 
fog over the Channel and it took us over three 
hours.” 

“ Did you see Milly ? ” 

“ Yes, called at the Continental last night and had 
half an hour’s chat with her. She seems well enough, 
and had booked her passage to New York from Cher¬ 
bourg on the eighteenth.” 

“And what’s the latest about young Homfray?” 
asked the handsome woman, divesting herself of her 
furs. 

“ I was just discussing him with Jimmie. He seems 
to have unearthed one or two things while poking about 
at Little Farncombe.” 


io8 The Voice from the Void 


“ Yes. But there's one fact that I’ve dis¬ 
covered to-day—a very important fact,” she 
said. 

‘‘Well, what’s the trouble now?” asked Gray. 

“ Young Homfray is watching us ! ” 

“ Watching us ? What do you mean ? ” asked the 
man, turning pale. “ Has the old man told him about 
us?” 

“ He may have done. That we can’t tell. Only I 
found out that the other night Homfray was watching 
outside Purcell Sandys’ house in Park Lane, and saw 
me go in with Arthur. He inquired our names of one 
of the servants.” 

“ Gad! Then he’s already recognized you—eh ? ” 
cried Gray. “ That’s horribly awkward.” 

“ It is—in many ways! We must devise some plan 
to close the young man’s mouth.” 

“ But how, Freda? ” 

“ The drug will work again in a day or two. When 
it does he’ll be a hopeless idiot and nobody will credit a 
word he’s said.” 

“ It may work—and it may not. Jimmie says that 
some Harley Street fellow has been giving him injec¬ 
tions. That looks as though the drug has been spotted 
—eh ? ” 

“ Yes, it does. But old Grunberg assured me that a 
reaction must set in and hopeless idiocy will be the 
result. At least, let’s hope so.” 

“ I’m not so hopeful. The lad may yet be of some 
use to us. It’s fortunate that he’s never seen 
me. 

“ It is. And you’d better keep away from me in 


The Spider’s Nest 109 

London, for it’s evident that he is pretty shrewd, and 
is now constantly watchful.” 

“ I agree,” growled Claribut. And he must not 
see me either.” 

“ No. He certainly must not,” said Freda Crisp. 
“ Of course, the mystery of Edna has aroused his curi¬ 
osity—which is a pity. Our only hope is that the drug 
will act as old Grunberg guaranteed it would. By 
Jove! those German chemists are devilish clever—aren’t 
they? Old Homfray has defied us, and he will very 
soon have cause to regret his words, as I told him he 
would. Yet he may, of course, risk everything and 
tell the police about Hugh Willard! ” 

“ Oh! Don’t worry at all about that, you fool! ” 
urged Gray. “ As long as his son lives, whether idiot 
or not, he’ll keep his mouth closed for his own sake, 
depend upon it! ” 


CHAPTER X 


WHAT MR. SANDYS KNEW 

I AM very pleased indeed to meet your son, Mr. Horn- 
fray,said the grey-bearded man in his well-worn din¬ 
ner-jacket as he grasped Roddy’s hand in the handsome 
hall of Farncombe Towers. 

“ It’s awfully kind of you to say that, Mr. 
Sandys,” replied the young man, as they crossed 
to the great open fireplace with the blazing logs, a 
fireplace with carved stone over which was the time¬ 
worn escutcheon with the sea-horse rampant of the 
ancient Farncombe family. “ It’s so very kind of you 
to invite me,” the young man went on. “ Lord Farn¬ 
combe asked me here the last time I was back in Eng¬ 
land.” 

'‘You are a great traveller, I believe—are you not? 
Your father told me the other day about your adven¬ 
tures on the Amazon.” 

“ Well,” laughed the young man, easy in his well-cut 
dinner-jacket. “ I’m a mining engineer, you know, and 
we have to rough it very often.” 

“No doubt. Some of you are the pioneers 
of Great Britain. Once, years ago, I accom¬ 
panied an expedition up the Yukon River, and I 
had a very rough time of it, but it was intensely inter¬ 
esting.” 

“ Just now my son is interested in a concession 

no 


What Mr. Sandys Knew iii 

for emerald prospecting in the Atlas Mountains,” 
the old rector remarked. I have been going into 
the matter. There are some ancient workings 

somewhere in the Wad Sus district, from which 
it is said that the Pharaoh Rameses V of the 
Twenty-First Dynasty, and who was called Amen- 
nesu-F, obtained the magnificent gems which 
were among the greatest treasures of his huge 

palace in ancient Thebes. They were the gems 

which five hundred years later Ptolemy IV gave 
to Arsinde, the wife of Philopator—a fact which 
is recorded in a papyrus in the British Museum. 
And that was about eleven hundred years before 
the Christian era. The exact locality has been 

lost, but my son believes that from the mention 
of two ancient documents—one of which is in the 
Egyptian department at the British Museum and 
the other in the National Library in Paris—it can 
be located.” 

“ Most interesting, intensely interesting,” ex¬ 
claimed the honest-faced old gentleman whose 
name in connexion with his partner. Sir Charles 
Hornton, the international banker, who lived 
mostly in Paris, was one to conjure with in high 
finance. All over Europe the banking house of 
Sandys and Hornton was known. Next to that 
of the Rothschilds it was the most world famous. 
Old Purcell’s partner lived in the Avenue des 
Champs Elysees and had the ancient chateau of 
Livarot on the Loire, a beautiful winter villa at Cap 
Martin, and a house in Suffolk. Sir Charles 
seldom, if ever, came to London. Lady Hornton, 


112 The Voice from the Void 

however, frequently came, and spent a few weeks each 
season at Claridge’s or at Fawndene Court. 

“I hope you will be successful, not only in 
obtaining the concession from the Moors, Horn- 
fray, but also in locating the exact position of 

the ancient workings,” Sandys said, turning to 
the young man. “ It should bring you a fortune, 
for such a business proposition is worth money 
even to-day when there is a slump in precious 
gems.” 

“ I hope to be successful,” Roddy replied, 
when at the same moment Elma, in a pretty 

gown of soft pink crepe marocain, entered the 

room. 

Unaware of their previous friendship, Mr. 
Sandys introduced his daughter. Roddy instantly 
realized the fact that her father was in ignorance 
of their acquaintance, therefore he greeted her 

with formality, a fact which secretly amused the 
old rector. 

At dinner Roddy found himself seated on Elma's 
left in the fine old seventeenth-century room, with its 
old panelling and its four oval portraits by Lely, pic¬ 
tures of the dead-and-gone Farncombe beauties in wigs 
and patches. 

Roddy and his father were the only guests, and Elma, 
smiling and happy, acted as hostess. 

The grey-bearded old financier evinced a great 
interest in the rector’s son, and listened to his 
descriptions of his wanderings up the mighty 
Amazon. 

Presently Mr. Sandys remarked; 


What Mr. Sandys Knew 113 

I hear you are interested in wireless. It must 
be a most fascinating science. Of course, I 
have seen the installations on board ship, but the mod¬ 
ern wireless telephony seems to me little short of mar¬ 
vellous.’' 

“ Yes, to the uninitiated,” remarked the young fel¬ 
low with a smile. “ I’ve been experimenting for some 
years, and the set I have at the Rectory is quite efficient. 
From it I can speak over five to six hundred miles of 
space.” 

“ Really ? ” exclaimed the old gentleman, greatly in¬ 
terested. How very wonderful. I should like to 
see it.” 

“ So should I, dad,” said Elma, not allowing her 
father to know that she was already very well ac¬ 
quainted with the set, for Roddy had shown her how 
it worked, and had given her some slight instruction in 
its various complications. ‘'We ought to have a set 
fixed here. Then we could listen to the wireless con¬ 
certs, the broadcasting of news, and all that goes on 
in the ether—eh ? ” 

“ Would it be a very difficult affair to fit up a 
set here ? ” inquired her father of the young man. 

“ Not at all. You could easily stretch an aerial 
from a mast on one of the towers across to one 
of the big trees in the park, and so have a mag¬ 
nificent aerial. As regards cost, it all depends 
upon what you desire to receive. There are small 
sets for about five pounds, while on the large sets, 
which would receive everything up to nine thou¬ 
sand miles distant, one can spend a hundred 
pounds or more. Of course, you would not want 


114 The Voice from the Void 

to transmit—for transmission permits are only 
granted to those engaged in genuine research 
work.” 

“No. I should only want to listen. Could you man¬ 
age to install one for me, do you think ? ” 

“ With the greatest of pleasure,” said Roddy, de¬ 
lighted, while in secret Elma was equally enthusiastic. 
She well knew how absorbed he was in his experiments, 
and what pleasure he would derive from fitting up the 
new station. 

So it was decided that Roddy should purchase a 
really fine seven-valve receiving set and fix it up as soon 
as possible. 

“ You are not going away just yet, I hope,” said the 
financier laughing, “ at least, not until you’ve fixed up 
our wireless.” 

“ I don’t expect so,” was the young man’s 
reply. “ As soon as my friend gets the concession 
through at Fez I shall go to Morocco and start to 
work. I’ve been reading up the Wad Sus region, 
and it seems that the only way to reach it in safety 
is to join one of the camel caravans which go 
regularly to and fro from Mogador across the 
Sahara.” 

“ How interesting! ” declared Elma, looking very 
sweet and dainty. “ What an adventure to travel 
with the Arabs! I’d love it. We were in Algiers 
for a few weeks the winter before last, and I longed 
to make an excursion into the desert, but father 
objected! ” 

“ Ah! The Sahara is no place for a woman, Elma,” 
replied the old man. “ And especially that district 


What Mr. Sandys Knew 115 

south of the Atlas where Mr. Homfray is going. By 
the way/^ added Mr. Sandys, turning to the young 
man, “ I hear that you haven’t been very well lately. 
Somebody said you were missing for several days. Is 
that so ? ” 

A slight colour rose to the young man’s face, for he 
was at a loss for an evasive explanation. 

Oh ! I went away—up to London—and father 
grew alarmed because I hadn’t told him where I’d gone 
—that’s all! ” he laughed, and his eyes met Lima’s with 
a meaning look. 

There the matter dropped, and all four leaving the 
table passed into the big drawing-room, warmed 
by huge wood fires blazing at each end, where 
coffee was served by Hughes, the stately old 
butler who had been in Lord Farncombe’s service. 
Indeed, when Mr. Sandys purchased the Towers 
he took over nearly the entire staff, by which 
he had greatly ingratiated himself with the whole coun¬ 
tryside. 

It was a magnificent old room, oblong, with 
four long windows which in daytime gave beautiful 
vistas over the lake, the park, and dark woods 
beyond—a room which contained a number of 
valuable pieces of antique furniture, some genuine 
Elizabethan chairs and a Carolean day-bed, while 
on the walls were three pieces of almost priceless 
tapestry which had originally been in the historic 
Chateau of Amboise. Across the long windows 
heavy plush curtains were now drawn, and instead 
of a hundred candles in the great crystal candelabra, 
the beautiful old apartment with its sweet odour of 


ii6 The Voice from the Void 

pot pourri was filled with the soft glow of electric¬ 
ity, the lamps being hidden behind the high-up 
cornice. 

After coffee, Elma, at her father’s request, went to 
the piano and sang delightfully some charming 
French chansonettes. She had received part of 
her education at Versailles and spoke French 
fluently. 

“ When shall you start putting up the wireless, Mr. 
Homfray?” she asked presently, turning to Roddy, 
while her father and the rector were discussing some¬ 
thing concerning the parish. 

As soon as I can get the apparatus,” was his reply. 
“You will, I hope, help me—eh?” 

And he looked straight into her fine eyes. 

“ If you wish,” she replied. “ But—but,” she added 
in a low voice, “ you are going away to Morocco! ” and 
her lips pouted prettily. 

“ Not yet,” he assured her beneath his breath. “ I 
have no wish to go while you are here, Elma.” 

They had contrived to be at the other end of the big 
room, so that they could not be overheard. But next 
second he spoke aloud, suggesting that she should sing 
another song. 

“ No, Mr. Homfray. Come, let us sit by the fire,” 
she urged. “ Tell me more about your adventures in 
South America. It’s so exciting.” 

And they seated themselves at the further end of 
the room. 

Elma was nothing else than a modern girl—a 
“ latchkey girl,” if one liked to apply to her such 
an epithet. The removal of the conventions which 


What Mr. Sandys Knew 117 

tradition had built up around women—removed by 
the ardours and endurances of the war—has re¬ 
organized society. The correct behaviour of the 
days of Elma’s mother had vanished, and instead 
of the chaperon—to-day as extinct as the dodo 
—Elma frequently took around with her her dancing 
partner, a good-looking young barrister named 
Mostyn Wynn, with whom she often danced the 
entire evening, he taking her home to Park Lane 
in the small hours of the morning. Mostyn was 
only a “ pal.” He was a divine dancer, but she regarded 
him in much the same light as she regarded her little 
sharp-nosed, alert Pomeranian, Tweedles, the fiery 
yapper who had been the means of introducing her to 
Roddy Horn fray. 

There are a good many pessimists to-day, both men 
and women, in London Society who declare that its 

decline and fall ” has come because a girl has a latch¬ 
key, because she sometimes pays for a man’s dinner at 
a restaurant, and because she takes her dancing partner 
about with her like a dog. They say that the delicate 
lights and shades of the romance of Society of the 
Edwardian days are no longer to be found in Mayfair 
or Belgravia, but those who see through modern spec¬ 
tacles know that the removal of those tiresome and 
outworn conventions was inevitable, and that dancing 
partners and latchkeys for women mark the renais¬ 
sance of London life, rather than the decline which our 
pessimists who have lived in the last generation de¬ 
clare it to be. 

‘‘ Last Wednesday you were not in London, were 


Ii8 The Voice from the Void 

you ? ” remarked Roddy, as he smoked the cigarette 
which Elma had offered him. 

“ No,” she replied. I motored father up to Liver¬ 
pool. He had some business friends coming from New 
York, so we didn’t give our usual party.” 

‘‘ But on the previous Wednesday you did, and you 
had among your guests a Mrs. Crisp.” 

“Yes, Freda Crisp. Do you know her? Isn’t she 
awfully jolly? ” 

“ I only know her by sight, Elma. What do you 
know of her? Tell me,” he asked, lowering his voice 
again. 

“ Oh! not really very much. Her friend, Mr. Bert¬ 
ram Harrison, is a business friend of father’s. They 
are, I believe, carrying on some negotiations concern¬ 
ing a company in Marseilles.” 

“ But Mrs. Crisp. How did you come to know 
her ? ” 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Because I am very interested,” Roddy said, deeply 
in earnest. 

“ Lady Hornton, the wife of father’s partner, intro¬ 
duced us when I was staying at Fawndene Court, their 
place in Suffolk, about six months ago. Mr. Harrison 
came there to dine and sleep. But Freda never fails 
nowadays to come to our party, and she has hosts of 
friends in town.” 

“ Where does she live ? ” he asked eagerly. 

“ At a big old house called Willowden, beyond Wel¬ 
wyn, on the Great North Road.” 

The young man made a mental note of the address. 


What Mr. Sandys Knew 119 

Could it have been to that house he had been taken? 
If he saw it again possibly he would remember it. 

“ Why are you so inquisitive about her ? ” asked the 
girl. 

“ For several reasons/’ he replied. “ I was once 
warned against her, Elma. And I would repeat the 
warning to you,” he said, looking straight into the 
beautiful eyes of the girl he loved so deeply. 

“ But why? ” she asked, staring at him. “ Freda is 
an awfully good friend of mine! ” 

Has she ever been down here ? ” 

No. WeVe always met in town.” 

“ Has she ever asked about this place—about Little 
Farncombe—or about myself ? ” 

“ No, never. Why?” 

Roddy hesitated. Then he answered: 

Oh! well, I thought she might be a little inquisitive 
—that’s all! ” He did not tell her that it was his 
father, the rector, who had declared her to be a woman 
of a very undesirable type. It was that woman’s hand¬ 
some, evil face that ever and anon arose in his dreams. 
She was the woman under whose influence he had acted 
against his will, utterly helpless while beneath her dom¬ 
inating influence and only half-conscious in his drugged 
state. 

And such a woman was Elma’s friend! 

‘‘ Do you know anything of Mr. Harrison ? ” 
Roddy asked, whereupxDn she replied that she did not 
know much about him, but that her father would know. 
Then she called across to him: 

‘‘ I say, dad, what do you know about Bertram Har¬ 
rison—Freda Crisp’s friend?” 


120 The Voice from the Void 

At mention of the latter name the rector’s face 
changed. 

'' Bertram Harrison! ” echoed the great financier. 
“ Oh! He is partner in a French financial house. 
Hornton is having some business with him. ^rs. 
Crisp is a relative of his—his sister, I believe. Why 
do you ask ? ” 

The rector sat silent and wondering. 

Mr. Homfray knows Mrs. Crisp, and has just asked 
me about Mr. Harrison.” 

“ Oh! you know Freda, do you ? ” exclaimed Mr. 
Sandys, addressing the young man. A very intelligent 
and delightful woman, isn’t she? She has been a won¬ 
derful traveller.” 

Yes,” replied Roddy faintly. ‘T—well, I was sur¬ 
prised when I knew that she was a frequent visitor at 
Park Lane.” 

Why ? ” 

“ For certain reasons, Mr. Sandys,” was the young 
man’s hard reply, “ certain private reasons.” 

“ You don’t like her, that’s evident,” laughed the 
grey-bearded man. 

“ No, I don’t,” was Roddy’s blunt answer, as his 
eyes met those of his father. 

“ Well, she’s always most charming to me! ” de¬ 
clared Elma. 

And she has never mentioned me ? ” he asked. 
“ Are you quite sure ? ” 

Never?” 

Of course, I only know her through Harrison,” 
Mr. Sandys said. He introduced her to my partner, 
Sir Charles Hornton, whose wife, in turn, introduced 


What Mr. Sandys Knew 121 

her to Elma. She comes to our parties and seems to 
be very well known, for I’ve seen her in the Park 
once or twice with people who move in the best circles.” 

‘‘ I know you’ll pardon me, Mr. Sandys,” Roddy 
said, but I merely asked your daughter what she 
knew of her. Please do not think that I wish to 
criticize your friends.” 

“ Of course not,” laughed the financier. “ All ‘of 
us at times make social mistakes, especially men in 
my own walk of life. I am frequently'compelled to 
entertain people whose friendship I do not desire, but 
whom I have to tolerate for purely business purposes. 
But, by the way,” he added, “ I should much like to 
hear more concerning this concession in Morocco in 
which you are interested. Shall you be in London 
to-morrow? If so, will you look in and see me about 
noon in Lombard Street ? ” 

” Certainly,” replied Roddy with delight, and half 
an hour later father and son walked back through 
the frosty night to the Rectory. 

On the way Roddy referred to the conversation 
concerning the woman Crisp, but his father remained 
pensive and silent. 

He merely remarked: 

'' I had no idea that that woman was friendly with 
Miss Sandys.” 

Next day at the hour appointed Roddy passed 
through the huge swing doors in Lombard Street 
which bore a great brass plate with the inscription r 
‘‘ Sandys and Horton,” and a commissionaire at once 
conducted him up in the lift to Mr. Purcell Sandys’ 
private room. 


122 The Voice from the Void 

The elderly man was seated smoking a cigar by the 
fire of the big apartment which, with its red Turkey 
carpet and large mahogany table, was more like a 
comfortable dining-room than a business office. He 
welcomed his visitor to an arm-chair and at once 
pushed over a box of cigars. 

Then, when Roddy had lit one, he rose, and stand¬ 
ing astride upon the hearthrug, he looked at him very 
seriously and said: 

“ I really asked you here, Homfray, to put a ques¬ 
tion to you—one which I trust you will answer with 
truth.” 

“ Certainly I will,” the young man replied frankly. 

The old man fixed him with his deep-set eyes, and 
in a strange voice put to him a question which caused 
him to gasp. 

“ A young girl named Edna Manners has mysteri¬ 
ously disappeared. You know something concerning 
the affair! Tell me, what do you know?” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE HOUSE OF MYSTERY 

In an instant Roddy recovered himself. He saw that 
if he repeated the story of finding the girl in Welling 
Wood he would not be believed. And if Mr. Sandys 
did not believe the strange truth, he would likewise 
not believe in his bond fides concerning the hoped- 
for concession in Morocco. He therefore pursued a 
rather injudicious policy of evasion. 

“ I know no girl named Edna Manners/’ he re¬ 
plied. 

The old gentleman moved uneasily and grunted in 
dissatisfaction. 

You did not tell me the truth last night concern¬ 
ing your disappearance,” he said severely. “ Why ? ” 

“ The less known about my strange adventure the 
better, Mr. Sandys,” was the young man’s reply. 

“ Then you did have a curious adventure, eh ? I’ve 
heard some rather strange rumours.” 

“ Rumours which I suppose are more or less true,” 
Roddy admitted. “ But, pardon me, Mr. Sandys, the 
affair is now all over. I was ill at the time, but now 
I am quite well again, and I have no desire to recall 
the past. It upsets me. Therefore I know that you 
will forgive me.” 

“Certainly, certainly, my dear young friend. I 

123 


124 The Voice from the Void 

quite understand. IVe heard that you’ve been suffering 
—well—from a nervous breakdown, they say. Den¬ 
ton had a specialist down to see you. Of course I’m 
wrong in trying to question you when you are not 
in a fit state. I admit it. It is I who should ask your 
forgiveness, Homfray.” 

The young man smiled, glad to have extricated him¬ 
self from a rather delicate situation. 

“ There is nothing to forgive,” he answered. 

“ But one day, and very soon perhaps, I shall re¬ 
quire your assistance, Horn fray,the grey-bearded 
financier said, looking at him very earnestly. “ I 
shall want you to help me to discover what has be¬ 
come of that young girl. You tell me you don’t 
know. But perhaps you may be aware of facts which 
may give us a clue to what actually happened to 
her.” 

Those words of his made it clear that it was not 
Elma who had told him about the tragic discovery 
in Welling Wood. He had learnt it from some other 
source—possibly from the current village gossip. In 
any case, Elma had not told her father the strange 
truth, and for that Roddy was indeed thankful. 

Those words of Purcell Sandys’, however, struck 
him as very strange; certainly they showed that his 
questioner believed that he knew more about the mys¬ 
terious Edna Manners—whoever she had been—than 
he had admitted. 

‘‘ I take it that you are deeply interested in the 
young lady who is missing?” Roddy remarked, hop¬ 
ing to elicit something concerning the girl, especially 


The House of Mystery 125 

as Elma had the girl’s photograph in her possession. 

“ Yes, I am,” was the other’s abrupt reply. “ She 
must be found—and at all hazards, for much depends 
upon it.” 

“ Where was she last seen ? ” 

On the platform at Waterloo Station on a Sun¬ 
day morning—the day when you also disappeared. 
She was with a gentleman whose description I have, 
and whom we must find. I have already a very 
reliable firm of private inquiry agents at work, and 
that much they have already discovered. Whether 
the pair took train from Waterloo is not known.” 
And taking a paper from a drawer which he unlocked 
he read a minute description of a middle-aged, clean¬ 
shaven, well-dressed man, to which Roddy listened. 

Ah! ” he said at last. I know of nobody who 
answers to that description.” And he spoke the 
truth. 

The fact, however, that Elma’s father had engaged 
detectives was rather perturbing. They might dis¬ 
cover the secret of his love for Elma! That secret 
both were determined, for the present, to conceal. 

Half an hour later Roddy walked back along Lom¬ 
bard Street, that bustling thoroughfare of bankers 
and financiers, full of grave reflections. If he could 
only recollect what had happened during that period 
of half-oblivion, then he would be able to act with 
fearlessness and come to grips with his enemies. 

He remembered that on the previous night he had 
learnt where Freda Crisp lived—a house called Wil- 
lowden, on the high road beyond Welwyn. There- 


126 The Voice from the Void 

fore after a sandwich at the refreshment bar at King’s 
Cross station he took train, and half an hour later 
alighted at Welwyn station. 

Directed by a butcher’s boy, he walked for about 
a mile along the broad high road until he came to 
the house—a large old-fashioned one standing back 
amid a clump of high fir trees, with a tennis lawn and 
large walled garden on the left. The green holland 
blinds were down, and apparently the place was tem¬ 
porarily closed, a fact which gave him courage to ap¬ 
proach nearer. 

As he did so the chords of his memory began to 
vibrate. He could remember at last! He recollected 
quite distinctly walking on the lawn. In a flash it 
all came back to him! There was a gate which led 
into a small rose garden. He looked for it. Yes! 
There it was! And the grey old sundial! He recol¬ 
lected the quaint inscription upon it: “I mark ye 
Time; saye Gossip dost thou so.” Yes, the weather¬ 
beaten old dial was there beside a lily pond with a 
pretty rock garden beyond. 

He stood peering eagerly through a crack in the 
old moss-grown oak fence, his vista being limited. But 
it sufficed to recall to his be-dimmed memory some 
details, sharp and outstanding, of the interior of that 
old Georgian house, its plan and its early Victorian 
furnishings. In the days he had spent there he had 
wandered aimlessly in and out. He knew that the 
two French windows, which he could see, opening on 
to a veranda and giving out upon the leaf-strewn lawn, 
were those of the drawing-room. The old-fashioned 


The House of Mystery 127 

furniture he remembered was covered with glazed 
chintz with a design of great red roses and green pea¬ 
cocks. In the centre was a large settee upon which 
the Woman of Evil had often sat beside him, holding 
his hand and talking to him in domineering tones, 
while her elderly male companion sat in a high-backed 

grandfather chair beside the fire, smoking and 
smiling. 

Mostly, however, he had spent his time in an up¬ 
stairs room which had once been a nursery, for it had 
iron bars at the window. His-eyes sought that window 
—and he found it! 

Ah! in that room he had spent many dreary hours; 
his mind filled with weird and horrible visions— 
shadowy pictures which seemed bent on driving him 
to insanity. 

For fully a quarter of an hour he remained in the 
vicinity, his eyes strained on every side, and grad¬ 
ually recovering his normal memory. 

When, however, he tried to recall that night when 
he had acted under the overbearing influence of the 
woman Crisp he, alas! failed—failed utterly. Per¬ 
haps if he could get sight of the interior of the room 
in which he was victimized he might remember, but 
strive how he would all he could recall was but misty 
and unreal. 

At last he turned from the house, half-fearful lest 
his presence there might be known, yet gratified that 
the place was shut up. 

Had the woman and her companion left? Had they 
taken fright and flown? 


128 The Voice from the Void 

He walked back to the station, but ere he had 
arrived at King’s Cross he found that his recollection 
was becoming fainter, until it was just as hazy as 
before. Only when his eyes were fixed upon the scene 
of his mysterious bondage did his memory return to 

him. 

Yet he had satisfactorily cleared up one important 
point. He had fixed the house to which he had been 
secretly conveyed. Had the girl Edna Manners been 
taken there also? Perhaps her body had afterwards 
been concealed. Recollection of his mysterious dis¬ 
covery caused him to shudder. The girl s appeal to 
him to save her still sounded in his ears, while the 
vision of that pale, still countenance often rose before 
him. 

Next day, and the next, he was busy purchasing 
the wireless*set which he had promised to obtain for 
Mr. Sandys—a seven-valve Marconi set with a “ double 
note-magnifier,” a microphone relay and a loud-speak¬ 
ing telephone. This, with coils taking every wave length 
from one hundred to twenty-five thousand metres, 
completed one of the best and most sensitive sets that 
had been invented. 

Adjoining the morning-room in the east wing of 
Farncombe Towers was a small ante-room, and into 
this he proceeded to install the apparatus, aided of 
course by Elma. Mr. Sandys had gone to Paris to 
consult with his partner, therefore the young pair had 
the place to themselves. 

The local builder at Roddy’s orders put up a mast 
upon the tower immediately above the room they had 


The House of Mystery 129 

chosen, and the young man having constructed the 
double-line aerial a hundred feet long and put many 
insulators of both ebonite and porcelain at each end, 
the long twin wires were one morning hoisted to the 
pole, while the other end was secured in the top of 
a great Wellingtonia not far from the mansion. The 
lead-in cable, known to naval wireless men as the 
“cow-tail,’' was brought on to a well-insulated brass 
rod which passed through the window-frame and so 
on to the instruments, which Roddy set up neatly 
in an American roll-top desk as being convenient to 
exclude the dust. 

Making a wireless “ earth ” proved an amusing 
diversion to both. Elma, who had read a book about 
wireless, suggested soldering a wire to the water tap; 
but Roddy, who had bought his experience in wireless 
after many months and even years of experiment, re¬ 
plied : 

“ Yes. That’s all very well for an amateur ‘ earth,’ 
but we’ve put up a professional set, and we must make 
a real ‘ earth.’ ” 

The real “ earth ” consisted, first, of digging three 
deep holes about four feet deep and three feet long 
under the aerial. This necessitated the use of a pick¬ 
axe borrowed from the head gardener, for they had 
to dig into chalk. 

Elma proved herself an enthusiastic excavator and 
very handy with the shovel, and after a heavy after¬ 
noon’s work she wheeled a barrowful of coke from 
the palm-house furnace, and Roddy carefully placed 
a zinc plate in a perpendicular position into each hole 


130 The Voice from the Void 

and surrounded it with coke which, absorbing the 
moisture, would always keep the zinc damp, and 
hence make a good earth connexion. These three plates 
having been put in directly beneath the aerial wires, 
they were connected by soldered wires, and before 
darkness set in the earth wire was brought in and 
connected up to the set. 

Afterwards, in order to make certain of his earth ” 
—usually one of the most neglected portions of a 
wireless installation, by the way—he took a large mat 
of fine copper gauze which he had bought in Lon¬ 
don, and soldering a lead to it spread it across the 
grass, also beneath the aerial. 

Lima watched it all in wonderment and in ad¬ 
miration of Roddy’s scientific knowledge. She had 
read the elementary book upon wireless, but her lover, 
discarding the directions there set down, had put in 
things which she did not understand. 

“ And now will it really work ? ” asked the girl, as 
together they stood in the little room where upon the 
oak writing-desk the various complicated-looking 
pieces of apparatus had been screwed down. 

“ Let’s try,” said Roddy, screwing two pairs of 
head-’phones upon two brass terminals on one of the 
units of the apparatus. 

Lima took one pair of telephones, while Roddy 
placed the others over his ears. His deft fingers 
pulled over the aerial switch, whereupon the nine little 
tubular electric lights instantly glowed, each of them 
three inches long and about the size of a chemical 
test-tube. They gave quite a pretty effect. 


The House of Mystery 131 

“ Thanks, Cox! ” came a voice, loud and distinct. 

I could not get you clearly until now. I understand 
that your position is about half-way across the Chan¬ 
nel and that visibility is rather bad. Le Bourget 
reported when you left. Righto! Croydon, switch¬ 
ing off! ** 

“ Splendid I ” Elma cried. ** Just fancy, within a 
day you have fitted up wireless for us, so that we 
can actually hear telephony on the Paris airway I ” 
That was my friend Luger talking to the Paris- 
London mail-plane. Probably we’ll have Tubby 
next.” 

“ Who’s Tubby ? 

** Oh! The one-time boy scout who is an operator 
in the hut at Croydon aerodrome and who climbs 
the masts, fits the switch-board, and does all the odd 
jobs. Sometimes the jobs are very odd, for he makes 
the wheels go round when other people give it up. 
Listen again. The hour has just struck. Tubby may 
now come on duty.” 

Again they placed the telephones over their ears, 
but beyond a few faint dots and dashes—‘‘ spark ” 
signals from ships at sea and “ harmonies ” at that— 
there was nothing. The mysterious voice of Croydon 
was silent. 

Suddenly they heard a kind of wind whistle in 
the telephones, and another voice, rather high-pitched, 
said: 

^‘Hulloa! G.E.A.Y.! Hulloa, Cox! Croydon 
calling. Please give me your position. Croydon 


over. 


132 The Voice from the Void 

“ That’s Tubby,” laughed Roddy. “ I thought he’d 
come on duty for the last watch.” 

” Marvellous! ” declared the pretty girl, still listen¬ 
ing intently. 

Then she heard a faint voice reply: 

“ Hulloa, Croydon! G.E.A.Y. answering. I am 
just over Boulogne; visibility much better. Thanks, 
Tubby! Switching off.” 

Roddy removed the telephones from his ears, and 
remarked: 

‘‘ I hope your father will be interested.” 

“ He will, I’m certain. It’s topping,” the girl de- ' 
dared, “but it’s rather weird though.” 

“ Yes—to the uninitiated,” he replied. Then, 
glancing at his wrist-watch, he said: “ It’s time 

that New Brunswick began to work with Carnar¬ 
von. Let us see if we can get the American 
station.” 

He changed the small coils of wires for ones treble 
their size, and having adjusted them, they both listened 
again. 

“ There he is! ” Roddy exclaimed. Sending his 
testing ‘ V’s ’ in Morse. Do you hear them—three 
shorts and one long ? ” 

In the ’phones the girl could hear them quite 
plainly, though the sending station was across the 
Atlantic. 

Then the signals stopped. Instantly the great 
Marconi station gave the signal “go.” And Roddy, 
taking up a pencil, scribbled down the first message 
of the series, a commercial message addressed to a 
shipping firm in Liverpool from their New York agent 


The House of Mystery 133 

concerning freights, followed, with scarce a pause, 
by a congratulatory message upon somebody’s mar¬ 
riage—two persons named Gladwyn—and then a short 
Press message recording what the President had said 
in Congress an hour before. 

“ They’ll keep on all night,” remarked Roddy, with 
a smile. “But so long as the set works, that’s all I 
care about. I only hope your father will be satisfied 
that I’ve tried to do my best.” 

“ Really the marvels of wireless are unending! ” 
Elma declared, looking into her lover’s strong, manly 
face. “ You said that the broadcast would come on 
at eight. Stay and have something to eat, and let us 
listen to it.” 

“Ah! I’m afraid I’d-” 

“ Afraid ! Of course not! ” she laughed merrily, 
and ringing the bell she told Hughes, who an¬ 
swered, that “ Mr. Homfray would stay to din¬ 
ner.” 

The latter proved a cosy tete-a-tete meal at which 
the old butler very discreetly left the young couple to 
themselves, and at eight they were back in the newly 
fitted wireless room where, on taking up the telephones, 
they found that the concert broadcasted from London 
had already begun. A certain prima donna of world¬ 
wide fame was singing a selection from II Trovatore, 
and into the room the singer’s voice came per¬ 
fectly. 

Roddy turned a switch, and instead of the music be¬ 
ing received into the ’phones it came out through the 
horn of the “ loud speaker,” and could be heard as 



134 The Voice from the Void 

though the singer was actually in the house and not 
forty-five miles away. 

And they sat together for yet another hour enjoying 
the latest wonders of wireless. 


CHAPTER XII 

REX Rutherford’s prophecy 

At the Rectory Roddy sat in his own wireless room 
until far into the night, fitting a complete wireless 
receiving set into a small cigar-box. The one he had 
fitted into a tin tobacco-box was efficient in a sense, 
but the detector being a crystal it was not sufficiently 
sensitive to suit him. 

The one he was constructing was of his own de¬ 
sign, with three valves—as the little wireless glow- 
lamps are called—the batteries and telephones being 
all contained in the box, which could easily be carried 
in the pocket together with a small coil of wire which 
could be strung up anywhere as an aerial, and as 
“ earth ” a lamp post, a pillar-box, or running water 
could be used. 

It was nearly three o’clock in the morning be¬ 
fore he had finished assembling it, and prior to fixing 
it in the box he submitted it to a test. Opening the 
window of his wireless room he threw the end of 
the coil of wire outside. Then going out into the 
moonlight, he took the ball insulator at the end of 
the wire and fixed it upon a nail he had driven in 
the wall of the gardener’s potting-shed some time be¬ 
fore. 

Then, having stretched the wire taut to the house, 
he went back and attached it to one of the terminal 

135 


136 The Voice from the Void 

screws of the little set upon which he had been working 
for many days. The earth-wire of his experimental set 
he joined up, and then putting on the ’phones listened 
intently. 

Not a tick! 

He slowly turned the ebonite knob of the condenser, 
but to no avail. Raising the wave-length brought no 
better result. Was it yet another failure? As an ex¬ 
perimenter in radio he was used to failures, so it 
never disheartened him. Failure in prospecting was 
the same as failure in wireless. He received each rebuff 
complacently, but with that air of dogged perseverance 
of which success is ever born. 

“ Strange! ” he remarked aloud. It certainly should 
give signals.” 

Then he examined the underside of the sheet of 
ebonite on which the various units were mounted, 
valves, condensers, etc., when at last he discovered 
a faulty connexion on the grid-leak. The latter will 
puzzle the uninitiated, but suffice it to say that so 
delicate is wireless receiving that over a line drawn by 
a lead pencil across paper or ebonite with a two-inch 
scratch in it filled with pencil dust the electric waves 
will travel. The connexion was not complete at one 
end. He tightened the little terminal, and suddenly 
came the expected high-pitched dots and dashes in the 
Morse code. 

“ Ah! Stonehaven! ” he remarked. Then, by 
turning the knob of the condenser, a sharp rippling 
sound was brought in—the automatic transmission 
from Cologne to Aldershot at seventy words a 
minute. 


Rex Rutherford’s Prophecy 137 

Backwards and forwards he turned the condenser, 
and with a second knob altered the wave-length of 
his reception, first tuning in ships in the Channel 
signalling to their controlling station at Niton, in the 
Isle of Wight, or the North Foreland; then Leafield, 
in Oxfordshire, could be heard transmitting to Cairo, 
while Madrid was calling Ongar, and upon the high¬ 
est wave-length the powerful Marconi station at 
Carnarvon was sending out a continuous stream of 
messages across the Atlantic. 

Suddenly, as he reduced his wave-length below 
six hundred metres, he heard a man’s deep voice 
call: 

“ Hulloa, 3.V.N. Hulloa! This is 3.A.Z . answer¬ 
ing. What I said was the truth. You will under¬ 
stand. Tell me that you do. It is important and very 
urgent. 3.A.Z. changing over.” 

Who 3.A.Z. was, or who 3.V.N., Roddy did not 
at the moment know without looking up the call-let¬ 
ters in his list of experimental stations. The voice 
was, however, very strong, and evidently high power 
was being used. 

He listened, and presently he heard a voice much 
fainter and evidently at a considerable distance, 
reply: 

^‘Hulloa, 3.A.Z. This is 3.V.N. answering. No, 

I could not get you quite clearly then. Remember, I 
am at Nice. Kindly now repeat your message on a 
thousand metres. 3.V.N. over.” 

Quickly Roddy increased his wave-length to a 
thousand metres, which he swiftly tested with his 
wave-meter, a box-like apparatus with buzzer and 


138 The Voice from the Void 

little electric bulb. Suddenly through the ether 
came the words even more clearly than before: 

“ Hulloa, 3.V.N. at Nice! Hulloa! This is 3.A.Z. 
repeating. I will repeat slowly. Please listen! 3.A.Z. 
repeating a message. Andrew Barclay leaves London 
to-morrow for ^larseilles, where he will meet ^lohamed 
Ben Azuz at the Hotel Louvre et Paix. Will you 
go to Marseilles? Please reply. 3.A.Z. over.” 

Roddy held his breath. Who could possibly be 
warning somebody in the south of France of his 
friend Barclay’s departure from Victoria to inter\new 
the IMoorish Minister of the Interior regarding the 
concession ? 

Again he listened, and yet again came the far-off 
voice, faint, though yet distinct: 

“3V.N. calling 3.A.Z.! Thanks, I understand. 
Yes. I will go by next train to Marseilles. Is Freda 
coming? 3.V.N. over.” 

Yes. Freda will come if you wish it,” re¬ 
plied the loud, hard voice. “ 3.A.Z. calling 3.V.N. 
Over.” 

‘‘ Hulloa, 3.A.Z. From 3A^.N. Thanks. Shall 
expect Freda, but not by same train. Tell Jimmie to 
be on tlie alert. I’ll explain to Freda when I see her. 
Gk)od-night, old man. Good-bye. 3.V.N. closing 
down.” 

Quickly Roddy searched his list of amateur call- 
signs, but he could not find either 3A.Z. or 
3.V.N. They were eHdently false signs used by pre¬ 
arrangement, but by persons who, strangely enough, 
knew of his friend Barclay’s journey on the mor¬ 
row ! 


Rex Rutherford’s Prophecy 139 

And Freda? Could it be Freda Crisp who had 
been indicated? Why was she going south also—^but 
not by the same train? 

After an hour’s sleep young Homfray, much mysti¬ 
fied, rose, dressed, and taking out his motor-cycle, 
started up the long high road to London. 

On the platform at Victoria as early as half-past 
eight o’clock he awaited his friend Barclay. Presently 
he came, a ruddy, round-faced, rather short little man 
of fifty, who was a thorough-going cosmopolitan and 
who had dabbled in concessions in all parts of the 
world. 

“ Hulloa, Homfray! ” he exclaimed, looking at 
the muddy condition of his friend’s motor clothes. 
‘‘ I didn’t expect you to come to see me off.” 

“ No,” replied the young man rather hesitatingly, 
“ but the fact is I have come here to warn you.” 

“Warn me! Of what?” asked his friend in 
surprise. 

Then Roddy explained, and repeated what the mys¬ 
terious voice from the void had said. 

“ Both speaker and listener were disguised under 
false call-signs,” he went on. “Hence it is highly 
suspicious, and I felt it my duty to tell you.” 

Andrew Barclay was puzzled. The porter was 
placing his bags in a first-class compartment of the 
boat train, which was crowded with people going 
holiday-making abroad. Loud-voiced society women 
commanded porters, and elderly men stalked along 
to the carriages following their piles of baggage. The 
eight-forty Paris service is usually crowded in summer 
and winter, for one gets to Paris by five, in time for 


140 The Voice from the Void 

a leisurely dinner and the series of trains which leave 
the Gare de Lyon in the region of nine o’clock. 

“Just repeat all you said, Roddy, will you?” asked 
the man in the heavy travelling coat. 

The young fellow did so. 

“ Freda ? That’s a rather unusual name. Has it 
anything to do with that woman Freda Crisp you told 
me about ? What do you think ? ” 

“ I believe it has.” 

Barclay was aware of all the strange experiences 
of the shrewd young mining engineer. Only three 
days after his return to Little Farncombe he had 
gone down to the quiet old country rectory and listened 
to his friend’s story. 

In this concession to work the ancient mines in 
the Wad Sus he was equally interested with his 
young friend in whom he believed so implicitly, 
knowing how enthusiastic and therefore successful 
he had been in his prospecting expeditions up the 
Amazon. 

The big portable luggage-vans—those secured by 
wire hawsers which are slung on to the mail-boat and 
re-slung on to the Paris express—had been locked 
and sealed with lead, as they always are. The head 
guard’s whistle blew, and Barclay was about to enter 
the train, when Roddy said: 

“ Do take care! There’s more in this than either 
of us suspect. That woman Crisp! Beware of her. 
You will see her in due course at your hotel. Be care¬ 
ful. Good-bye—and good luck I ” 

The train moved out around the bend. The young 
fellow in his wet, muddy overalls stood for a mo- 


Rex Rutherford’s Prophecy 141 

ment gazing at the rear van. Should he watch for the 
departure of the woman? No. She might see him. 
•Better that he should remain in apparent ignorance. 
So he went out, remounted his cycle, and headed away 
back over Putney Bridge and through crooked King¬ 
ston, Cobham, and down the steep hill in Guildford 
towards home. 

Freda! That name was burned into his brain like 
the brand of a red-hot iron. Freda—the woman who 
had held him beneath her strange, inexplicable spell 
during his bondage at the remote old country house near 
Welwyn. 

But why ? Why should his father have warned him 
against her ? His father, a most honest, upright, 
pious man to whom he had always looked for leader¬ 
ship—the road-builder to the perfect life, as he had 
always regarded him. No man in the world is perfect, 
but Norton Homfray had, to say the least, tried to 
live up to the standard laid down by the Holy 
Writ. 

Had he had faults in his past life, his son 
wondered? Every man has faults. Were those 
faults being concealed by his father—the pater ” 
upon whom he doted and to whom when away he 
wrote so regularly, with all his most intimate news, 
though mails might leave very intermittently, as they 
do from the back of beyond, where prospectors carry 
on their work with hammer and microscope. 

Then, as he rode along in the grey, damp winter 
morning, he reflected. 

The whole situation was most puzzling. He 
loved Elma with a fierce all-consuming affection. 


142 The Voice from the Void 

She was his only beacon in his eager, strenuous 
life. 

A week went by. He anxiously awaited news 
from Andrew Barclay, but the latter sent no word. 
He was, without doubt, negotiating with the 
Moorish Minister of the Interior, who was at that 
moment visiting France, and who was his personal 
friend. 

But Roddy could not rid himself of the recol¬ 
lection of that strange conversation by radio-tele¬ 
phone—the request that Freda should go south. 
He had taken another journey out to Welwyn in 
order to ascertain if the woman was still at Willow- 
den, but had found the house still closed and ap¬ 
parently without a caretaker. Had he been able to 
get a view of the back of the premises he would, no 
doubt, have noticed the well-constructed wireless aerial, 
but it was completely hidden from the road, and 
as during his enforced sojourn in the place he 
had never seen it, he remained in ignorance of its 
existence. 

At Farncombe Towers Mr. Sandys, when he 
returned home, had expressed himself highly de¬ 
lighted with the wireless set which the rector’s son 
had installed, and on two successive evenings sat with 
Elma intensely interested in listening to broadcasted 
concerts and news. 

Three nights later Elma and her father, having 
been to the first night of a new revue, had had 
supper at the Savoy, and passing into the lounge, 
sat down to their coffee, when an elderly, clean-shaven, 
rather tall man, accompanied by a well-dressed, shorter. 


Rex Rutherford’s Prophecy 143 

but good-looking companion, both in well-cut evening 
clothes, suddenly halted. 

'' Hulloa, Harrison! exclaimed the grey-bearded 
financier to the man who bowed before Elma and 
greeted her. 

‘‘ Not often we see you here, Mr. Sandys! ” 
replied the man, evidently surprised. Then he 
begged leave to introduce his companion, Mr. Rex 
Rutherford. 

Elma smiled as the stranger expressed delight at 
meeting her father and herself. 

Your name is very well known to me, as to 
everybody. Mr. Sandys,” said the dark-eyed man 
pleasantly, as they both took chairs which the financier 
offered them, at the same time ordering extra 
coffee. ‘‘ Though Fm an American, I live mostly in 
Paris, and I met your partner. Sir Charles, there 
quite recently.” 

“ I shouldn’t have thought you were an American,” 
remarked Elma. "‘We in England expect every 
United States citizen to speak with an accent, you 
know.” 

“ Well, Miss Sandys, I suppose I’m one of the 
exceptions. My father and mother were British. 
Perhaps that accounts for it,” he laughed, lighting a 
cigar. 

“ Mr. Rutherford is more of a Parisian than Ameri¬ 
can, Miss Sandys,” declared the man, Bertram Harri¬ 
son. And then they began to chat about the 
new revue, which Elma described enthusiastically 
as a great success, while Rex Rutherford sat listen- 


144 The Voice from the Void 

ing to her, evidently filled with admiration of her 
sweetness and remarkable beauty. 

Elma presently inquired of Mr. Harrison if he had 
seen Mrs. Crisp lately. 

“ No. She’s gone to Switzerland,” was his 
reply. 

I’m thinking of going across to Florida very soon 
to spend the winter at Palm Beach. I was there last 
year,” remarked Rutherford. “ Ever been there, 
Mr. Sandys ? ” 

‘‘ Never,” replied Elma’s father. “ I must try it 
one winter. I’ve heard so much about it. Are you in 
London for long ? ” 

“ Only for a week or so on a matter of business. 
I’m at the Carlton, but I expect very soon to get back 
to Paris again.” 

And so the conversation drifted on, both men 
well-bred and of charming manner, until the lights 
were lowered as sign that the restaurant was 
closing. 

The pair saw Mr. Sandys and his daughter into 
their limousine, and then walked together along the 
Strand. 

“ Well, how did it work?” asked the man Harrison 
eagerly. 

“ Excellent,” declared Gordon Gray, for it was 
he who had been introduced as Rex Rutherford. 
“ We’ve taken a step in the right direction to¬ 
night. It only shows you what can be done by 
watchfulness. But, oh! the girl! Lovely, isn’t 
she ? ” 

“ Yes, but I hope, my dear Gordon, you’re not 


Rex Rutherford’s Prophecy 145 

going to lose your head to a woman! WeVe other 
fish to fry with the old man—remember! 

“ Lose my head to a woman I ” cried Gray, halting 
beneath the street lamp and looking at him with his 
dark eyes. “ No, my dear fellow, I never do that. 
It’s the woman who loses her head to me! You told 
me once that she dances well, didn’t you? Well, the 
day will come when she will dance to any tune that I 
choose to play! ” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE HIDDEN EAR 

‘‘No, Dick! A trifle farther this way,” whispered 
Freda Crisp, who with a piece of string had been 
measuring the blank wall of the sparely-furnished 
hotel sitting-room. 

“Do you think so? I don’t,” replied a lean, 
well-dressed, rather striking-looking man of middle- 
age, who held in his hand a steel gimlet, nearly two 
feet in length, such as is used by electricians to 
bore holes through walls and floors to admit the 
passage of electric-lighting wires. 

“Slip out and measure again,” urged the 

woman, who was wearing a simple blouse and a 
navy-blue skirt which looked rather shabby in the 
grey afternoon light. “ It won’t do to be much 
out.” 

The man, whom she had addressed as Dick, 

carefully opened the door of the room a little way, 
peered out into the corridor, and waited. There 
being no sign of anyone stirring—for hotels are 

usually most quiet at about half-past three in the 
afternoon—he slipped out. He took the string 
and, stooping to the floor, measured from the 

lintel of the door to the dividing wall of the next 
room. 

Twice he did so, and then made a knot in the 

146 


The Hidden Ear 


147 

String, so that there should be no further 
mistake. 

On creeping back to where the woman awaited 
him, he said: 

“ You were quite right, Freda. Now let’s get to 
work.” 

So saying, he again measured the distance 
from the door, being on his knees the while. 
Then, still on his knees and taking the long 
gimlet, he screwed it into the plaster and worked 
hard until the steel slowly entered the wall, driv¬ 
ing a small hole through it and at the same time 
throwing out a quantity of white dust upon the 
floor. 

“ It’s through! he exclaimed presently, and with¬ 
drawing the tool, placed his eye to the small round 
hole. 

“ Excellent. Now we’ll take the wires 
through.” 

Again the man, Dick Allen, opened the door 
noiselessly, and creeping out with a coil of twin 
wires, unrolled it from his hand and, as he went 
down the corridor, placed it beneath the edge of 
the strip of thick green carpet, and into a sitting- 
room four doors along. 

He laid the two twisted wires still beneath the 
carpet, and carrying them behind a heavy settee, 
he took from his pocket what looked like a good- 
sized nickel-plated button. The front of it was, 
however, of mica, a tiny brass screw set in the 
centre. To it he carefully attached the fine silk- 
covered wires, tightening the screw securely. 


148 The Voice from the Void 

Then, taking a big safety-pin from his pocket, he 
attached the button to the back of the settee, where 
it was completely hidden. 

The microphone button hung there as a hidden 
ear in that luxuriously-furnished room. 

When he returned to his companion he found 
that she had already driven in a tin-tack, around 
which she had twisted the two wires. To pass 
the wires beneath the door was impossible, as they 
would have to run over a long stretch of stone 
and somebody might trip over them. 

Afterwards she put on her hat and fur coat, 
and the pair left the big Hotel du Parc and 
strolled down the wide, bustling boulevard, the 
Rue Noailles, in that great city of commerce, 
Marseilles. The hotel they had left was not so 
large nor so popular as the great Louvre et Paix, 
which is perhaps one of the most cosmopolitan 
in all the world, but it was nevertheless well 
patronized. At the Louvre most travellers passing 
to and from India and the Far East stay the night, 
after landing or before embarking, so that it is an. 
establishment with a purely cosmopolitan clientele. 
But the Parc was a quieter, though very aristocratic 
hotel, patronized by British peers and wealthy 
Americans on their way to the Riviera or the East, 
and also by foreign potentates when landing in 
Europe. 

The truth was that when the Moorish Minister 
of the Interior—the white-bearded old Moslem who 
had come over on an informal visit to the French 
President—arrived in Marseilles accommodation 


The Hidden Ear 


149 

could not be found for him at the Louvre et Paix, 
So he had naturally gone to the Parc, where the 
best suite had been placed at his disposal by the 
officials at the Quai d’Orsay. 

News of this had reached Dick Allen on his 
arrival from Nice, and Freda, posing as an 
English society woman, had taken another suite 
for the purpose of keeping observation upon 
the old Moorish Minister, whom his English 
friend Barclay had arrived in Marseilles to 
visit. 

Already it was nearly five o’clock, so the 
woman Crisp and her companion strolled along to 
the big Cafe de I’Univers in the Cannebiere, where 
they sat outside over their aperitifs, well satisfied 
with their preparations. 

“ When I dined at the Louvre et Paix last night 
I sat close to Barclay. The old Moor was with him, 
and I distinctly heard Barclay say that he would 
call at the Parc at nine to-night. The old Moor looks 
very picturesque in his native costume with his turban 
and his white burnous.” 

** Marseilles is so cosmopolitan that one meets 
almost as many costumes here in the Cannebiere as 
on the Galata Bridge at Constantinople,” laughed 
Freda. “ Nobody here takes any notice of costume. 
Besides, all the Arab business men from Algeria 
and Tunis who come over wear the same Arab 
dress. In any other city they would be conspicuous, 
but not here.” 

Dick Allen, a clever crook, by the way, who 
had been in many intricate little “ affairs ” as the 


150 The Voice from the Void 

accomplice of Gordon Gray, Porter, Claribut 
and Freda, remained silent for a moment oi' 
two. 

A Moorish costume would be a jolly good dis^ 
guise one day, wouldn’t it? I’ve never thought of 
that before, Freda,” he said. 

“ Providing you knew a few words of Arabic 
and could speak French fairly well,” the woman 
answered. 

The first I could easily pick up. The second 
I can already do fairly well. Just a little staining 
of the face, hands and hair, and the transforma¬ 
tion would be complete. I’ll remember that for the 
future.” 

Yes, my dear Dick. One day it might be 
very handy—if the police were very hot on the 
track. You could pose as an Algerian fruit 

merchant, or something of the sort, while 
they’d be looking for the Englishman, Dick 

Allen! ” 

Both laughed. Each had their reminiscences of 
being hard pressed and having to exercise their 
keenest wits to elude their pursuers. 

What you’ve told me about that old parson 
in England rather worries me,” said the man. 

What can he know about Hugh ? ” 

“ Nothing, my dear Dick. Don’t worry. It’s 
all bluff! Leave it to Gordon. He directs every¬ 
thing. He wriggled out in the past, and he’ll do 
it again.” 

“ That’s all very well. But I tell you I’m not 
so sure. Jimmie wrote to me the other day.. The 


The Hidden Ear 


151 

butler stunt at your house at Welwyn is all very 
well, but the game must be blown sooner or later. 
Believe me, Freda, it must!” 

I know. But we’re not staying at Willowden 
always.” 

“ But Gordon has his radio-telephone there. He 
talked to me on it to Nice the other night.” 

“ Yes. But we shall clear out at a moment’s 
notice—when it becomes desirable, and the little 
local police-sergeant—no, I beg his pardon, he’s 
fat and red-faced and goes about on a push-bike— 
will be left guessing why the rich tenants of the 
big house have gone away on holidays. We’ve 
departed upon lots of holidays—haven’t we, Dick? 
And we’ll go once more I Each holiday brings us 
money—one holiday more or one less—what mat¬ 
ters? And, after all, we who live with eyes skinned 
on people with money deserve all we get. England 
has now changed. Those stay-at-home cowards of 
the war have all the money, and poor people like 
ourselves deserve to touch it, if we can manage to 
lead them up the garden, eh ? ” 

And the handsome adventuress laughed 

merrily. 

“ But surely our present game is not one against 
war profits?” the man remarked, during a lull in 
the blatant cafe orchestra. 

“ No. We’re up against saving ourselves—you 
and I and Gordon and Jimmie. Don’t you realize 
that not a word must ever leak out about young 
Willard? Otherwise we shall all be right in the cart 
—jugged at once! ” 


152 The Voice from the Void 

“ I hope old Homfray knows nothing. What can 
he know ? ” 

“ He may, of course, know something, Dick,” the 
woman said in an altered voice. “If I had known 
what I do now I would never have been a party 
to taking his son Roddy away.” She paused for a 
moment and looked straight at him. “ We made 
a silly mistake—Fm certain of it. Gordon laughs 
at me. But Jimmie is of my opinion.” 

“ But can’t we close the old man’s mouth and 
trust to luck with his son ? He’ll become an 
idiot.” 

“ Gordon is bent upon getting this concession. 
So are you. So let us do what we can. The installa¬ 
tion of that delicate microphone into the old Moor’s 
room is a mark up to you.” 

“ It usually works. I’ve used it once or twice 
before. But let’s hope for the best—eh, Freda ? ” 

“ Yes,” laughed the handsome woman carelessly 
—the adventuress who was so well known each 
winter at Cannes or at Monte Carlo, or in summer 
at Aix or Deauville. In the gayer cosmopolitan 
world Freda Crisp was known wherever smart 
society congregated to enjoy itself. 

The pair of crooks afterwards dined at that 
well-known restaurant the Basso-Bregaillon, on 
the Quai de la Fraternite, a place noted for its 
“ bouillabaisse ”—that thick fish soup with the 
laurel leaves and onions and coloured with saffron, 
which is the great delicacy of the city. Both Freda 
and her companion had been in Marseilles before 
upon other adventurous missions. Dick lived in 


The Hidden Ear 


153 


Nice, and was really a secret agent for the black¬ 
mailing exploits of others concerning those who 
played at Monte Carlo when they were supposed 
to be at home attending to business or politics; or 
the wives of men who were detained by their affairs 
in Paris, New York, or London. 

Mr. Richard Allen lived very quietly and 
respectably in his little white villa on the Corniche 
road. He was known everywhere along the 
Riviera from Hyeres to Mentone. That he was 
a wireless amateur many people also knew. But 
of his real and very lucrative profession of black¬ 
mail nobody ever dreamed. Yet of the women 
who flock to the Riviera each year who dreams 
that the nice amiable, middle-aged man whom one 
meets at hotels or at the Casino, and who may 
offer to dance, is a blackmailer ? Ah! How many 
hundreds of the fair sex have in these post-war 
days been misled and, bemuddled by liqueurs, 
fallen into the clever trap laid for them by such 
blackguards ? 

Blackmailers stand around the tapis-vert on the 
Riviera in dozens. Nobody suspects them. But 
their victims are many, and their failures few. 
And of the vampires of the Cote d’Azur, Allen 
was one of the most successful—allied as he was 
with Gordon Gray, who, when necessity arose, 
supplied the sinews of war. 

Soon after half-past eight they were back in 
the private sitting-room at the hotel, and having 
locked the door, Allen set to work. Upon the table 
was a small dispatch-case, and from it he took a 


154 The Voice from the Void 

flat dry battery, such as is used in flash-lamps, and 
a pair of wireless telephone receivers. The battery 
and telephones being carefully attached to the wires, 
the man took one of the receivers and listened. 
The ticking of the clock in the adjoining room, 
hardly discernible to anyone even a few yards 
away, was now distinctly audible. 

No word was exchanged between the pair, for 
they were unaware whether anyone was already in 
the room. 

Suddenly Allen raised his finger and motioned 
to his companion to take the other receiver. This 
she did eagerly, when she heard the rustling of a 
newspaper, followed by a man’s deep cough. The 
old Moor was already there, awaiting the English¬ 
man. 

By means of the delicate microphone-button every 
sound was now magnified and conveyed from His 
Excellency’s sitting-room to the ears of the listeners. 
The clock had already struck nine when presently 
the door opened and two men entered, greeting the 
Moorish Minister in French. One, who spoke 
French very badly, was Barclay. 

The conversation which ensued, believed by the 
three men to be in strictest secrecy, was highly 
interesting to the pair of listeners four rooms away. 
Little did they dream that behind that soft silk- 
covered settee hung the tiny transmitting-button, that 
little contrivance by which Allen had listened to pri¬ 
vate conversations many times before, conversations 
which had resulted in large sums being paid to him 
to ensure silence. 


The Hidden Ear 155 

The man who had accompanied the English¬ 
man, Barclay, appeared from their deliberations to 
be the Raid Ahmed-el-Hafid, one of the most power¬ 
ful officials at Fez, and their discussion concerned 
the granting of the concession to prospect for 
precious stones in the Wad Sus valley. 

And the name in which the concession is to 
be granted ? ’* inquired His Excellency huskily in 
French. 

The name is Roderick Charles Homfray,’* said 
Barclay. I have it here written down. If your 
Excellency will have the document drawn up 
and sealed, my friend the Raid will come 
over and meet me here or in Paris, or even in 
London.” 

“ In London,” the Raid suggested. “ I have busi¬ 
ness there next month.” 

And it is distinctly understood that if gems be 
found and a company formed that I get one-eighth 
share ? ” asked the wily old Minister. 

“ I have already assigned that to your Excel¬ 
lency,” replied Barclay. “ I think you and the Raid 
know me well enough to trust me.” 

Of course we do. Monsieur. Barclay,” declared 
the Minister with a laugh. “ Very well. It is 
fixed. I will, immediately on my return, grant the 
concession to this Monsieur—Monsieur Horn-fray, 
and hand it to the Raid to bring to you.” Then, 
after a pause, the patriarchal old Moor added in 
his hoarse voice: “ Now that we have arrived at 
terms I have something here which will greatly 
facilitate Monsieur Hom-fray’s search.” 


156 The Voice from the Void 

“ Have you ? ” cried Barclay eagerly. “ What’s 
that ? ” 

“ When you sent me word in confidence some 
months ago about the ancient mines in the Wad 
Sus, I sent a trusty agent, one Ben Chaib Benuis, 
there to make secret inquiry. He is one of the 
Touareg—the brigands of the desert—and from 
his fellow-marauders he discovered the exact spot 
where the ancient workings are situated—a spot 
only known to those veiled nomads. They pre¬ 
serve the secret from the Arabs. Indeed, here I 
have not only a map giving the exact spot—roughly 
drawn though it is, yet giving the exact measure¬ 
ments and direction from the oasis of Raffi—but 
also one of the emeralds which my agent himself 
discovered. You see, it is still rough and uncut, 
yet is it not magnificent in size ? ” 

Both men drew deep breaths. The listeners could 
hear their surprise as the old Minister exhibited to 
them proof of the continued existence of the gems 
at the spot marked upon the map. 

‘‘ Now,” went on the old man, “ I will give you 
this map. Monsieur Barclay, but I will keep the 
emerald to repay myself for the expenses of my 
agent—eh? Be extremely careful of the map, and 
take all precautions for its safety, I beg of you. I 
have brought it over with me rather than trust it 
to others, Monsieur Barclay.” 

“ I thank your Excellency. It shall not leave 
my possession until I hand it, together with the 
concession, to young Homfray—who, I may say, is 
enthusiastic, resourceful and daring—just the go- 


The Hidden Ear 157 

ahead young man we require for such a hazardous 
venture/’ 

“ And you will form a company in London to 
work the mines—eh ? ” the Kaid remarked. 

‘‘ That is our intention. We can find the money 
easier in London than in Paris, I think.” 

“ Yes, London,” urged His Excellency. “ I 
would prefer London. But,” he added, “ be careful 
of that map. Monsieur Barclay! It will be of 
greatest use to our young friend, whom I hope one 
day to see in Fez. I will then introduce him to 
Ben Chaib, who will obtain for him a safe conduct 
among the Touareg because they are always dan¬ 
gerous for strangers.” 

“ Even to ourselves,” laughed the Kaid, and then 
added: “ I will be in London on the tenth of next 
month. But I will write to you, Monsieur Barclay, 
giving you notice of my arrival.” 

A quarter of an hour later the three men went 
forth together, while Freda, opening the door 
stealthily, saw their figures disappearing down the 
corridor. The Kaid was a tall, spare man in 
European clothes, but the Moorish Minister of the 
Interior was wearing his turban and flowing white 
burnous which spread about him as he walked. 

“ Quick! ” she whispered to her companion. “ Slip 
in and get out the wires, while I detach them on 
this side.” 

This he did, and, save the small hole through 
the wall, all traces of their ingenuity were swiftly 
removed. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE KEY TO A FORTUNE 

** Here’s five pounds now—and fifteen more when 
you give it back to me, my dear little girl. Only be 
sure it’s the right one you take! ” 

** But I—I really can’t—I-” 

** Don’t be a silly fool, Lily. I only want to 
play a practical joke on your master. I knew him 
a long time ago, and it will greatly surprise him. 
No harm will be done, I assure you. Surely you 
can trust me ? ” 

The girl Lily, well and neatly dressed, was a 
parlour-maid, while the man, also quite decently 
dressed, was somewhat older. The pair were at 
the moment standing at the comer of the street 
near Richmond Station, and it was already nearly 
ten o’clock at night, at which hour the girl had to 
be indoors. 

Three weeks before she had first met Mr. Henry 
Elton. He had sat next to her in the cinema and 
had spoken to her. The result had been that he 
had taken her to tea on several evenings, and on 
her “day out,” which had been the previous Friday, 
he had taken her on a char-a-banc to Bognor. He 
was not at all bad-looking, a solicitor’s managing 
clerk, he told her, and she rather liked him for his 
quiet, subtle manner. 


158 



The Key to a Fortune 159 

But what he had asked her to do had greatly 
surprised her. He had promised her twenty pounds 
if she would press her master’s little safe key 
into the tin match-box filled with soft wax, and 
thus take an impression of it. Naturally she asked 
why. In reply he had explained that he and her 
master had, for years, been intimate friends, and 
that once in the club they had had a sharp discussion 
about safes and keys. Her master had declared 
that safe-makers made no two keys alike. And now 
he wanted to play a joke upon him and prove to 
him that they did. 

They had been chatting it over all that evening. 
The plea was certainly a thin one, but to Lily 
Lawson in her fcame of mind, and with a gentleman 
as her sweetheart, it sounded quite plausible. 

“ Of course, I rely upon you, Lily, never to give 
me away,” he laughed. ‘‘ I warrt to win the bet, and 
I’ll give you half! ” 

“Of course I won’t,” she answered, as they still 
stood there, the clock striking ten. “ But I really 
ought not to do it! ” 

“ It isn’t difficult. You say that he often leaves 
his keys on his dressing-table, and you know the 
little one which unlocks the safe in the base¬ 
ment.” 

“ Yes. It’s quite a tiny key with the maker’s name 
along the barrel of it.” 

“ Then all you have to do is to press it well 
into the wax, and there’s fifteen pounds for you 
if you give the little box back to me to-morrow 
night. It’s so easy—and twenty pounds will cer- 


i6o The Voice from the Void 


tainly be of use to you, now that your poor mother is 
so ill/’ 

The girl wavered. The man saw it and cleverly 
put further pressure upon her, by suggesting that 
with the money she could send her mother away 
for a change. 

But is it really right ? ” she queried, raising her 
dark eyes to his. 

“Of course it is. It’s only a joke, dear,” he 
laughed. 

Again she was silent. 

“ Well,” she said at last. “ I really must fly 
now.” 

“ And you’ll do it, won’t you ? ” he urged. 

“ Well, if it’s only a joke, yes. I’ll—I’ll try to 
do it.” 

“ At the usual place at nine to-morrow night— 
eh?” 

“ All right,” she replied, and hurried away, while 
the man lit a cigarette, well-satisfied, and then turned 
into a bar to get a drink. 

The man was the blackmailer Richard Allen. 

During Andrew Barclay’s journey home Allen 
and his woman accomplice had made a daring 
attempt to possess themselves of the valuable plan 
which had been given him by His Excellency. 
Barclay had broken his journey for a day in Paris, 
and had gone to the Grand Hotel. During his 
absence Allen had applied at the bureau for the 
key of the room—explaining that he was Mr. 
Barclay’s secretary—and had been given it. 

Instantly he went up and ransacked the Eng- 


The Key to a Fortune i6i 

lishman’s bags. But to his chagrin and annoyance 
the plan was not there. 

As a matter of fact Barclay had placed it in 
his pocket-book and carried it with him. Again, 
next day, as he disembarked from the Channel 
steamer at Folkestone, Freda stumbled against 
him and apologized, and while his attention was 
thus attracted Allen made an attempt to possess 
himself of his wallet. But in that he was unsuc¬ 
cessful. 

Therefore the pair, annoyed at their failure, 
had watched him enter the train for Victoria and 
for the moment gave up any further attempt. 
Thus it was that the man had contrived to get on 
friendly terms with Barclay's parlour-maid, who 
had told him that in the house her master had a 
safe built in the wall in the basement near the 
kitchen. In it the silver and other valuables were 
kept, together with a quantity of papers. 

No doubt the precious map was held there in 
safety, and for that reason they were endeavouring 
to obtain a cast of the key. 

It was after all a dangerous job, for the girl 
might very easily tell her master of the kind gentle¬ 
man who had ofifered twenty pounds for the where¬ 
withal to play a practical joke. And if so, then 
the police would no doubt be informed and watch 
would be kept. 

With that in view, Freda was next night idling 
near the spot arranged, close to where one buys 
‘‘ Maids of Honour,” and though Allen was in the 
vicinity, he did not appear. 


162 The Voice from the Void 


At last the girl came and waited leisurely at the 
corner, whereupon after a few moments Freda 
approached her and said pleasantly: 

“You are waiting for Mr. Elton, I believe?” 

“ Yes, I am,” replied the girl, much surprised. 

“ He is sorry he can’t be here. He had to go 
to the north this afternoon. He’ll be back in a 
day or two. He gave me fifteen pounds to give 
to you for something. Have you got it ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied the girl. “ Come along, madam, 
where it’s dark and I’ll give it to you.” 

So they moved along together around a corner 
where they would not be observed, and in exchange 
for the three five-pound notes the girl handed the 
woman the little tin matchbox with the impression 
of a key in the wax. 

“ You’ll say nothing, of course,” said Freda. 
“ You’ve promised Mr. Elton to say nothing.” 

“Of course I won’t say anything,” laughed the 
girl. “ The fact is, I’ve had a row with the house¬ 
keeper and have given in my notice. I leave this 
day week.” 

This news was to the woman very reassuring. 

“You’re quite certain you took the right key?” 
she asked. 

“ Quite. I looked at the maker’s name before I 
pressed it into the wax,” she answered. “ But I’d 
like to see Mr. Elton again before I leave Rich¬ 
mond.” 

“ He’ll be back in a couple of days, and then 
he will write to you. I’ll tell him. Good-night, and 
thanks.” 


The Key to a Fortune 163 

And the woman with the little box in her muff 
moved away well-satisfied. 

A quarter of an hour later she met Allen out¬ 
side Richmond Station, and placing the little box 
in his hands, explained that the girl was leaving 
her place the following week. 

'' Excellent! We’ll delay our action until she’s 
gone. I suppose Fd better see her before she goes, 
so as to allay any suspicion.” Then, opening the 
box, his keen eye saw that the impression was un¬ 
doubtedly one of a safe key. 

Indeed, next morning, he took it to a man in 
Qerkenwell who for years had made a specialty 
of cutting keys and asking no questions, and by 
the following night the means of opening the safe 
at Underhill Road was in Allen’s hands. 

The man who lived by the blackmailing of those 
whom he entrapped—mostly women, by the way— 
was nothing if not wary, as was shown by the fact 
that he had sent Freda to act as his messenger. 
If the girl had told the police the woman could have 
at once declared that she had never seen the girl 
before, though if the little box had been found upon 
her, explanation would have been somewhat diffi¬ 
cult. But the gang of which the exquisite adven¬ 
turer Gordon Gray was the alert head always acted 
with forethought and circumspection; the real 
criminal keeping out of the way and lying doggo ” 
proof was always rendered as difficult as possible. 

Gray had gone over to Brussels, which ac¬ 
counted for Willowden being closed. He had a 
little piece of rather irritating business on hand 


164 The Voice from the Void 

there. Awkward inquiries by the police had led 
to the arrest of a man who had sent word in secret 
that if his wife were not paid two thousand pounds 
as hush-money, he would tell what he knew. And 
the wife being a low-class Belgian woman from 
Namur, Gray had gone over to see her and to appease 
her husband by paying the sum demanded. 

Crooks are not always straight towards each other. 
Sometimes thieves fall out, and when in difficulties 
or peril they blackmail each other—often to the 
advantage of the police. 

Roddy and Barclay had met, the latter having 
told his young friend of the arrangements he had 
made with His Excellency and the Kaid, and also 
shown him the map which had been given to him. 

At sight of this the young fellow grew very 
excited. 

‘‘ Why, it gives us the exact location of the 
workings,” he cried. ‘‘With this, a compass and 
measuring instruments I can discover the point 
straight away. The old man is no fool, evi¬ 
dently ! ” 

“ No, the Moors are a clever and cultivated race, 
my dear Roddy,” the elder man replied. “ As soon 
as the Kaid brings over the necessary permits and 
the concession you can go ahead. I will keep the 
map in my safe till then, when I will hand all the 
documents over to you.” 

This good news Roddy had told Elma one evening 
when they had met clandestinely—as they now so 
often met—at a spot not far from the lodge gates 
at Farncombe Towers. 


The Key to a Fortune 165 

‘'How jolly lucky!’" the girl cried. “Now you’re 
only waiting for the proper permits to come. It’s 
really most good of Mr. Barclay to help you. He 
must be an awfully nice man.” 

“ Yes, he’s a topper—one of the best,” Roddy 
declared. “ Out in South America he did me a 
good turn, and I tried to repay it. So we became 
friends. He’s one of the few Englishmen who 
know the Moors and has their confidence. He’s a 
bachelor, and a great traveller, but just now he’s 
rented a furnished house in Richmond. He’s one 
of those rolling stones one meets all over the 
world.” 

The young man waxed enthusiastic. He loved 
Elma with all his heart, yet he wondered if his 
affection were reciprocated. She had mentioned to 
him the close friendship which had sprung up 
between her father and Mr. Rex Rutherford, and 
how he had dined at Park Lane. But at the 
moment he never dreamed that her grace and 
beauty had attracted her father’s newly-made 
friend. 

As for Roddy’s father, he remained calm and 
reflective, as was his wont, visiting his parish¬ 
ioners, delivering his sermons on Sundays, and 
going the weary round of the village each day 
with a cheery face and kindly word for everybody. 
Nothing had been done concerning his property in 
Totnes as the woman Crisp had threatened. It 
was curious, he thought, and it was evident that 
the ultimatum he had given Gray had caused him to 
stay his hand. 


i66 The Voice from the Void 


Yet as he sat alone he often wondered why Gray 
and that serpent woman should have so suddenly 
descended upon him, and upon Roddy, to wreak 
a vengeance that, after all, seemed mysterious and 
quite without motive. 

The hot blazing summer days were passing, 
when late one balmy breathless night—indeed it 
was two o’clock in the morning—a man dressed 
as a railway signalman, who had been on night 
duty, passed along Underhill Road, in Richmond, 
and halted near the pillar-box. Underhill Road 
was one of the quieter and more select thorough¬ 
fares of that picturesque suburb, for from the 
windows of the houses glorious views could be 
obtained across the sloping Terrace Gardens and the 
wide valley of the Thames towards Teddington and 
Kingston. 

A constable had, with slow tread, passed along 
a few moments before, but the signalman, who 
wore rubber-soled black tennis shoes, had followed 
without noise. 

The watcher, who was Dick Allen, saw the man 
in uniform turn the corner under the lamplight and 
disappear. Then slipping swiftly along to a good- 
sized detached house which stood back from the 
road in its small garden, he entered the gate and 
dived quickly down to the basement—which, by 
the way, he had already well surveyed in the 
daytime. 

Before a window he halted, and turning upon 
it a small flash-lamp, inserted a knife into the sash 
and pressed back the latch in a manner that was 


The Key to a Fortune 167 

certainly professional. Having lifted the sash he 
sprang inside and, guided by the particulars he 
had learnt from the maid Lily, he soon discovered 
the door of the safe, which was let into the wall in 
a stone passage leading from the kitchen to the 
coal-cellar. 

He halted to listen. There was no sound. The 
little round zone of bright light fell upon the brass 
flap over the keyhole of the dark-green painted 
door of the safe, wherein reposed the secret of the 
rich emerald mine in the great Sahara Desert. 

He took the bright little false key, which was 
already well oiled, and lifting the flap inserted it. 
It turned easily. 

Then he turned the brass handle, which also 
yielded. He drew the heavy door towards him and 
the safe stood open! The little light revealed three 
steel drawers. The first which he opened in eager 
haste contained a number of little canvas bags, 
each sealed up. They contained specimens of ore 
from various mines in Peru and Ecuador. Each 
bore a tab with its contents described. 

In the next were several pieces of valuable old 
silver, while the third contained papers—a quantity 
of documents secured by elastic bands. 

These he turned over hurriedly, and yet with 
care so as not to allow the owner to suspect that 
they had been disturbed. For some time he 
searched, until suddenly he came upon an envelope 
bearing upon its flap the address of the Hotel du 
Parc at Marseilles. It was not stuck down. He 
opened it—and there he found the precious map 


i68 The Voice from the Void 


which showed the exact position of the ancient 
Wad Sus mine! 

For a few seconds he held it in his hands in 
supreme delight. Then, taking from his pocket a 
blank piece of folded paper he put it into the en¬ 
velope, and replacing it among the other documents 
which he arranged just as he had found them, he 
closed the safe and relocked it. 

A second later he stole noiselessly out by the 
way he had come, the only evidence of his presence 
being the fact that the window was left unfastened, 
a fact which his friend Lily’s successor would, he 
felt sure, never notice. 

But as, having slowly drawn down the window, he 
turned to ascend the steps a very strange and dis¬ 
concerting incident occurred. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE MASTER-STROKE 

'Mr. Richard Allen found himself, ere he was 
aware of it, in the strong grip of a burly police 
constable. 

‘‘ And what ’ave you been up to ’ere—eh ? ” 
demanded the officer, who had gripped him tightly 
by the coat collar and arm. 

“ Nothing,” replied Allen. I fancy you’ve made 
a mistake! ” 

“ I fancy I ’aven’t,” was the constable’s reply. 
‘‘ You’ll ’ave to come to the station with me.” 

“ Well, do as you please,” said Allen with an 
air of nonchalance. “ I’ve done nothing.” 

“ I’m not so sure about it. We’ll see what you’ve 
done when you’re safely in the cells.” 

Cells! Mr. Richard Allen had already had a 
taste of those—on more than one occasion—both 
in England and abroad. It was, after all, very humili¬ 
ating to one of his high caste in crookdom to be 
arrested like a mere area sneak. 

“ I don’t see why I should be put to the incon¬ 
venience of going to the station,” the cosmopolitan 
remarked. 

“ Well, I do, mister, so there’s all the differ¬ 
ence ! ” replied the other grimly, his eyes and ears 
on the alert to hail one of his comrades, a fact 

169 


170 The Voice from the Void 

which the astute Mr. Allen did not fail to realize. 
The situation was distinctly awkward, not to say 
alarming, for in his pocket he had the precious 
map. 

Suddenly they were about to turn the corner 
into the main road when the prisoner, who had 

gone along quite quietly, even inertly, quickly 
swung round and snatched at the policeman’s 
whistle, breaking it from its chain and throwing it 
away. 

It was done in a moment, and next second with 
a deft movement he tripped up his captor, and both 
fell heavily to the pavement. He had taken the 

constable unawares, before he could realize that he 
had a slippery customer to deal with. The constable, 
however, would not release his hold, with the result 
that they rolled struggling into the gutter, the police¬ 
man shouting for assistance. 

A man’s voice answered in the distance, whereupon 
Allen’s right hand went to his jacket pocket, and 

then swiftly to the face of his captor, who almost 

instantly relaxed his hold as he fell into unconscious¬ 
ness. The prisoner had held a small capsule in 
his captor’s face and smashed it in his fingers, thus 
releasing an asphyxiating gas of sufficient potency to 
render the constable insensible. 

Quick as lightning Allen disengaged himself, 
and dragging the senseless man across the pave¬ 
ment into the front garden of a small house exactly 
opposite, closed the gate, picked up his hat, and 
then walked quietly on as though nothing had 
occurred. 


The Master-Stroke 


171 

As he turned the corner he came face to face with 
another constable who was hurrying up. 

“ Did you hear my mate shouting a moment 
ago, sir ? ” asked the man breathlessly. 

No,” replied Allen halting. “ I heard no shout¬ 
ing. When?” 

“ A few moments ago. The shouts came from this 
direction. He was crying for help.” 

Well, I heard nothing,” declared Allen, still 
standing as the constable, proceeding, passed the gate 
behind which his colleague lay hidden. 

Then Allen laughed softly to himself and set out 
on the high road which led to Kingston. 

** A narrow shave! ” he remarked to himself aloud. 
“ I wonder what Barclay will say when they go to 
Underhill Road! ” 

Not until eight o’clock in the morning did a milk¬ 
man going his round find the constable lying as 
though asleep in the little front garden. He tried 
to rouse him, but not being able to do so, called 
the nearest policeman who summoned the ambu¬ 
lance. At first the inspector thought the man 
intoxicated, but the divisional surgeon pronounced 
that he had been gassed, and it was several hours 
later, when in the hospital, that he managed to give 
an intelligible account of what had occurred. 

About noon an inspector called upon Mr. Barclay 
at Underhill Road, but he had gone out. 

Did you find any of your basement windows 
open when you got up this morning ? ” he asked 
the housekeeper, who replied in the negative. 
Then the new parlourmaid being called declared 


172 The Voice from the Void 

that she had fastened all the windows securely 
before^ retiring, and that they were all shut when 
she came down at seven o’clock. 

The inspector went away, but in the evening 
he called, saw Mr. Barclay, and told him how a 
man lurking against the kitchen window had been 
captured, and explained that he must be a well- 
known and desperate thief because of the subtle 
means he had in his possession to overcome his 
captors. 

“ My servants have told me about it. But as 
they say the windows were fastened the man could 
not have committed a burglary,” replied Mr. 
Barclay. The house was quite in order this 
morning.” 

But it is evident that the fellow, whoever he 
was, meant mischief, sir.” 

“ Probably. But he didn’t succeed, which is for¬ 
tunate for me! ” the other laughed. 

“ Well, sir, have you anything particularly valuable 
on the premises here? If so, we’ll have special 
watch kept,” the inspector said. 

‘‘ Nothing beyond the ordinary. I’ve got a safe 
down below—a very good one because the man who 
had this house before me was a diamond dealer, 
with offices in the City, and he often kept some of 
his stock here. Come and look at it.” 

Both men went below, and Mr. Barclay showed 
the inspector the heavy steel door. 

The inspector examined the keyhole, but there 
were no traces of the lock having been tampered 
with. On the contrary, all was in such complete 


The Master-Stroke 173 

order that Mr. Barclay did not even open the 
safe. 

‘‘ It’s rather a pity the fellow got away,” Mr. 
Barclay remarked. 

“ It is, sir— a. thousand pities. But according to 
the description given of him by Barnes—who is 
one of the sharpest men in our division—we believe 
it to be a man named Hamilton Layton, a well- 
known burglar who works alone, and who has been 
many times convicted. A constable in Sunderland 
was attacked by him last winter in an almost 

identical manner.” 

The inspector made a thorough search of the 

basement premises, and again questioned the fair¬ 
haired parlourmaid who was Lily’s successor. She 
vowed that she had latched all the windows, though 
within herself she feared that she had overlooked 
the fact that one of the windows was unlatched in 
the morning. Yet what was the use of confessing 
it, she thought. 

So there being no trace of any intruder, the 

inspector walked back to the station, while Mr. 
Barclay smiled at the great hubbub, little dream¬ 

ing that in place of that precious map there 
reposed in the envelope only a plain piece of 
paper. 

That afternoon Dick Allen arrived at Willow- 
den. Gray was away motoring in Scotland, where 
he had some little ‘‘ business ” of the usual shady 
character to attend to. Freda had gone to Hatfield, 
and it was an hour before she returned. During 
that hour Allen smoked and read in the pretty 


174 The Voice from the Void 

summerhouse at the end of the old-world garden, 
so full of climbing roses and gay borders. 

Suddenly he heard her voice, and looking up 
from his paper saw her in a big hat and filmy 
lemon-coloured gown. 

He waved to her, rose, and met her at the 
French window of the old-fashioned dining-room. 

** Well ? ’’ she asked. What luck, Dick ? I 
worried a lot about you last night. I felt somehow 
that you’d had an accident and to-day—I don’t 
know how it was—I became filled with apprehen¬ 
sion and had to go out. I’m much relieved to see 
you. What’s happened ? ” 

“ Nothing, my dear Freda,” laughed the good- 
looking scoundrel. “ There was just a little 
contretemps —that’s all.” 

Have you got the map ? ” 

** Sure,” he laughed. 

*‘Ah! When you go out to get a thing you' 
never fail to bring it home,” she said, with a smile. 

You’re just like Gordon. You’ve both got the 
impudence of the very devil himself.” 

‘‘ And so have you, Freda,” laughed her com¬ 
panion, as he stretched himself upon the sofa. 
“ But the little reverse I had in the early hours 
of this morning was—well, I admit it—rather 
disturbing. The fact is that on leaving the house 
in Richmond a constable collared me. He became 
nasty, so I was nastier still, and gave him a 
Number Two right up his nose. And you know 
what that means! ” 

“ Yes,” said the woman. “ He won’t speak 


The Master-Stroke 


175 

much for eight hours or so. I expect he saw the 
red light, eh ? ” 

“No doubt. But I’ve got the little map here, 
and Barclay retains a sheet of blank paper.” 

“ Splendid! ” 

Then he drew it from his pocket and showed it 
to her. 

“ Oh! won’t Gordon be delighted to get 
this! ” she cried. “ It will gladden, his heart. 
The dear boy is a bit down, and wants bucking 
up.” 

“ Where’s Jimmie ? ” asked Allen. “ Tell him 
to get me a drink. I suppose he’s back by this 
time ? ” 

The handsome woman in the lemon-coloured 
gown rose and rang the bell, and old Claribut, 
servile and dignified, entered. 

“ Hulloa! Dick! ” he exclaimed. “ Why, where 
have you sprung from? I thought you were in 
Nice! ” 

“ So I was. But I’m in Welwyn now, and I want 
one of your very best cocktails—and one for Freda 
also.” 

The old man retired and presently brought two 
drinks upon a silver salver. 

“ I shan’t be in to dinner to-night, Jimmie. 
I’m motoring Dick to London presently. I’ll be 
home about midnight. But I’ll take the key. Any 
news ? ” 

“ Nothing, madam,” replied the perfectly- 
mannered butler. “ Only the gas-man came this 
morning, and the parson called and left some 


176 The Voice from the Void 

handbills about the Sunday school treat you are 

going to give next Thursday. 

“ Oh! yes, I forgot about that infernal treat! 

See about it, Jimmie, and order the stuff and the 
marquee to be put up out in the field. See Jackson, 
the schoolmaster; he’ll help you. Say I m busy. 

“ Very well, madam.” 

“Well!” laughed Allen, “so you are acting the 
great lady of the village now, Freda!” 

“Of course. It impresses these people, and it 
only costs a few cups of tea and a few subscrip¬ 
tions. Gordon thinks it policy, but, by Jove! how 
I hate it all. Oh! you should see Gordon on a 
Sunday morning in his new hat and gloves. He s 
really a spectacle! ” 

“Ah! I suppose a reputation is judicious out 

here,” her companion laughed. 

“Yes. But I’ll drive you back to town,” she 
said. “We’ll dine at the Ritz. I want to meet a 
woman there. Wait a minute or two while I 
change my frock. I think you’ve done wonders 
to get hold of that map. Gordon will be most 
excited. He’ll be in Inverness to-morrow, and I’ll 

wire to him.” 

“ Guardedly,” he urged. 

“Why, of course,” she laughed. “But that 
poor old bobby with a dose of Number Two! I 
bet he’s feeling pretty rotten! ” 

“ It was the only way,” declared the cosmo¬ 
politan adventurer. “I wasn’t going to be hauled 
to the station and lose the map.” 

“ Of course not. Well, have another drink 


The Master-Stroke 177 

and wait a few minutes,” the woman said, where¬ 
upon he began to chat with old Claribut. 

“ I suppose the Riviera looks a bit hot and dusty 
just now,” remarked Jimmie, the butler. 

‘‘ Yes. But Freda’s a wonder, isn’t she ? ” re¬ 
marked Allen. “I’ve been asking her about that girl 
Edna. What has become of her ? ” 

“ I don’t know, Dick. So don’t ask me,” Claribut 
answered, as he smoked one of Gordon’s cigars. 
Truly that was a strange menage. 

“ But surely you know something,” Allen said. 

“ No, I don’t,” snapped old Jimmie. 

“ Ah! you know something—something very pri¬ 
vate, eh ? ” remarked the wily Dick. “ I suppose you 
are aware that old Sandys has a firm of inquiry 
agents out looking for her ? ” 

“Has he really?” laughed Claribut. “Well, 
then let them find her. Who has he called in ? ” 

“ Fuller—who used to be at the Yard. You 
recollect him. He had you once, so you’d better be 
careful.” 

“ Yes, he had me for passing bad notes in 
Brussels,” remarked the old man grimly. “ So old 
Sandys is employing .him ? ” 

“ Yes, and the old man is determined to know 
the whereabouts of Edna Manners.” 

“ I don’t think he’ll ever know. But how came 
you to know about it ? ” 

“ I have a pal who is a friend of Fuller’s—Jack 
Shawford. He told me. Sandys suspects that some¬ 
thing serious has happened to the girl.” 

At this Claribut became very grave. 


178 The Voice from the Void 

“ What makes him suspect it ? He surely doesn’t 
know that the girl was acquainted with that old 
parson Homfray! ” 

“No. I don’t think so,” was the reply. 

“Ah! That’s good. If he had any suspicion 
of that, then Fuller might get on the right track, 
you know, because of this mining concession in 
Morocco.” 

“ What connexion has that with the disappear¬ 
ance of the pretty Edna?” asked his fellow crook, 
in ignorance. 

“ Oh I it’s a complicated affair, and it would 
take a long time to explain—but it has!” 

“ Then you know all about Edna and what has 
happened 1 I see it in your face, Jimmie 1 Just 
tell me in confidence.” 

But the wary old man who had spent many 
years in prison cells only smiled and shook his 
head. 

“ I don’t interfere with other people’s affairs, 
Dick. You know that. I’ve enough to do to look 
after my own.” 

“ But where is Ednaf Is she—dead ? ” 

The old man merely shrugged his shoulders with 
a gesture of uncertainty and ignorance. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE LIGHT OF LOVE 

It had been all summer—endless, cloudless summer 
in England, from the time of the violets to the 
now ripening com. And there was no fore¬ 
boding of storm or winter in the air that glorious 
day. 

It was yet quite early in the morning, and 
high on the Hog’s Back, that ridge of the Surrey 
Hills that runs from Farnham towards Guildford, 
the gentle coolness of daybreak had not left the 
air. 

Roddy and Elma had met for an early morn¬ 
ing walk, she being again alone at the Towers. They 
had been walking across the fields and woods for 
an hour, and were now high up upon the hill which 
on one side gave views far away to the misty valley of 
the Thames, and on the other to Hindhead and 
the South Downs.' The hill rose steep and sombre, 
its sides dark with chestnut woods, and all about 
them the fields were golden with the harvest. 

They were tired with their walk, so they threw 
themselves down upon the grassy hillside and gazed 
away across the wide vista of hills and wood¬ 
lands. 

** How glorious it is! ” declared the girl, look¬ 
ing fresh and sweet in a white frock and wide- 

179 


i8o The Voice from the Void 

brimmed summer hat trimmed with a saxe-blue 
scarf. 

''Delightful! This walk is worth getting up 
early to take! ” he remarked with soft love 
laughter, looking into her wonderful eyes that at 
the moment were fixed in fascination upon the 
scene. 

Since that day months ago when he had de¬ 
clared his affection, he had never spoken directly of 
love, but only uttered it in those divers ways and words, 
those charms of touch and elegance of grace which 
are love’s subtlest, truest, and most perilous 
language. 

Slowly, as she turned her beautiful eyes to his, 
he took her soft little hand, raising it gallantly to his 
lips. 

" Elma,” he said after a long silence, " I have 
brought you here to tell you something—something 
that perhaps I ought to leave unsaid.” 

" What ? ” she asked with sudden interest, her eyes 
opening widely. 

" I want to say that I dislike your friend Mr. Ruther¬ 
ford,” he blurted forth. 

" Mr. Rutherford I ” she echoed. " He is father’s 
friend—not mine I ” 

" When I was at Park Lane the other night 
I noticed the marked attention he paid you—^how 
he-” 

" Oh! you are awfully foolish, Mr. Homfray— 
Roddy I He surely pays me no attention.” 

" You did not notice it, but I did I ” cried 



The Light of Love i8i 

the young man, whose heart was torn by fierce 
jealousy. 

“ Well, if he did, then I am certainly quite unaware 
of it.’^ 

His hand closed fast and warm upon hers. 

“ Ah! ’’ he cried, his eyes seeking hers with eager 
wistfulness, “ I do not wonder. Once I should have 
wondered, but now—I understand. He is rich,” he 
said softly and very sadly. And, after all, I am only 
an adventurer.” 

“ What are you saying ? ” cried the girl. 

“ I know the truth,” he replied bitterly. “If you 
ever loved me you would one day repent, for I have 
nothing to offer you, Elma. I ought to be content 
with my life—it is good enough in its way, though 
nameless and fruitless also, perhaps. Yes, it is foolish 
of me to object to the attentions which Mr. Rutherford 
pays you. He returned from Paris specially last 
Wednesday to be at your party.” 

“ I cannot understand! ” she declared. “ I do 
not want to understand! You are foolish, 
Roddy. I have no liking for Mr. Rutherford. None 
whatever! ” 

“Are you quite certain of that?” he cried, again 
looking eagerly into her face with a fierce expression 
such as she had never seen before upon his handsome 
countenance. 

“ I am, Roddy,” she whispered. 

“ And you really love me ? ” 

“ I do,” she whispered again. “ I shall be content 
anyhow, anywhere, any time— alzvays —with you ! ” 

He let go her hands—for him, almost roughly—' 


i 82 The Voice from the Void 


and rose quickly to his feet, and silently paced to and 
fro under the high hedgerow. His straw hat was 
down over his eyes. He brushed and trampled the 
wild flowers ruthlessly as he went. She could not tell 
what moved him—anger or pain. 

She loved him well—loved him with all the simple 
ardour and fierce affection of one of her young years. 
After all, she was not much more than a child, 
and had never before conceived a real affection for any 
living thing. She had not yet experienced that af¬ 
finity which comes of maturer years, that subtle 
sympathy, that perfect passion and patience which alone 
enable one heart to feel each pang or each joy that 
makes another beat. 

Roddy’s moods were often as changeful as the 
wind, while at times he was restless, impatient and 
depressed—perhaps when his wireless experiments 
gave no result. But it was often beyond her un¬ 
derstanding. 

Seeing him so perturbed, Elma wondered whether, 
in her confession of affection, she had said anything 
wrong. Was he, after all, growing tired of her? 
Had that sudden fit of jealousy been assumed on 
purpose to effect a breach ? 

She did not go to him. She still sat idly among 
the grasses. 

A military aeroplane from Farnborough was circling 
overhead, and she watched it blankly. 

After a little while her lover mastered whatever 
emotion had been aroused within him, and came back 
to her. 


The Light of Love 183 

He spoke in his old caressing manner, even if a 
little colder than before. 

“ Forgive me, dearest,’’ he said softly. '' I—I was 
jealous of that man Rutherford. That you really 
love me has brought to me a great and unbounded 
joy. No shadow has power to rest upon me to¬ 
day. But I—I somehow fear the future—I fear that 
yours would be but a sorry mode of existence 
with me. As I have said, my profession is merely that 
of a traveller and adventurer. Fortune may come in 
my way—but probably not. We cannot all be like the 
Italian beggar who bought the great Zuroff dia¬ 
mond—one of the finest stones in existence—for 
two soldi from a rag-dealer in the Mercato Vecchio 
in Ravenna.” 

“ You have your fortune to make, Roddy,” she said 
trustfully, taking his hand. “ And you will make it. 
Keep a stout heart, and act with that great courage 
which you always possess.” 

I am disheartened,” he said. 

Disheartened ! Why ? ” 

“ Because o'f the mystery—because of these strange 
mental attacks, this loss of memory to which I 
am so often subject. I feel that before I can go 
farther I must clear up the mystery of those lost days— 
clear myself.” 

Of what ? ” she asked, his hand still in hers. 

“Of what that woman made me—compelled me 
to do,” he said in a harsh, broken voice. He had 
not told her he had discovered where he had 
been taken. He felt that he was always disbe¬ 
lieved. 


184 The Voice from the Void 

“ Now, Roddy, listen ! ” she cried, jumping up. “ I 
believe that it is all hallucination on your part. You 
were kept prisoner at that house—as you have ex¬ 
plained—but beyond that I believe that, your brain 
being affected by the injection the devils gave to you, 
you have imagined certain things.” 

But I did not imagine the finding of Edna Man¬ 
ners ! ” he cried. Surely you believe me! ” 

“ Of course I do, dear,” she said softly. 

“ Then why do you not tell who she was ? 
At least let me clear up one point of the 
mystery.” 

“ Unfortunately I am not allowed to say anything. 
My father has forbidden it.” 

“ But what has your father to do with it ? I know 
he has put the matter into the hands of ex-Inspector 
Fuller. But why?” 

“ Father knows. I do not.” 

“ But he told me that much depended upon discover¬ 
ing her,” said her lover. “ Why does he search when 
I know that she died in my arms ? ” 

“ You have never told him so. He wishes to 
obtain proof of whether she is dead, I think,” said the 
girl. 

“ Why?” 

“ That I cannot tell. He has his own motives, I 
suppose. I never dare ask him. It is a subject I 
cannot mention.” 

“Why?” 

“He forbade me ever to utter Edna’s name,” she 
replied slowly. 

“ That is very curious, when he told me that he 


The Light of Love 185 

must find her. And he employed the famous Fuller 
to search for trace of her. But,” he added, “trace 
they will never find, for she is dead. If I told 
him so he would certainly not believe me. They all 
think that I am half demented, and imagine weird 
things! ” And he drew a long breath full of 
bitterness. 

“ Never mind,” she said. “ It would be infamous 
to be melancholy,, or athirst for great diamonds on such 
a glorious day.” 

“True, my darling, true!” he said. “Let us sit 
down again. There! Lean back so as to be in the 
shade, and give me your hand. Now I want to kiss 
you.” 

And taking her in his warm embrace, he rained 
kisses upon her full red lips in wild ecstasy, with 
low murmurs of love that were sweet in the young 
girl’s ears, while she, on her part, reclined in his arms 
without raising protest or trying to disengage herself 
from his strong clasp. 

“ I love you, Elma! ” he cried. “ That you have 
no thought for that man Rutherford who danced with 
you so many times on Wednesday night, who took 
you into supper and laughed so gaily with you, has 
greatly relieved me. I know I am poor, but I 
will do my very utmost to make good and to be worthy 
of your love.” 

Again his lips met hers in a long, passionate caress. 
For both of them the world was non-existent at that 
moment, and then, for the first time, her pretty lips 
pressed hard against his and he felt one long, fierce 
and affectionate kiss. 


i86 The Voice from the Void 


He knew that she was his at last! 

Half an hour later, as they went down the 
steep hill and across the beautiful wooded country 
towards Haslemere, Roddy Homfray trod on air. For 
him the face of the world had suddenly changed. 
Theirs was a perfect peace and gladness in that morn¬ 
ing of late summer. Elma, on her part, needed noth¬ 
ing more than the joy of the moment, and whatever 
darkness her lover may have seen in the future was 
all sunlight to her. Roddy’s glad smile was for her 
all-sufficient. 

That day surely no shadow could fall between them 
and the sun! 

As they walked along, Roddy suddenly ex¬ 
claimed : 

“ What fools are clever folk! ” 

Surely his hours of melancholy had not returned, 
she thought. 

“Why?” she asked. 

“ Because my enemies—my unknown mysterious 
enemies—your enemies—are fools, Elma, my darling.” 
And then perhaps for a moment they caught sight of 
each other’s souls. 

“ Perhaps they are. But we must both be guarded 
against them,” the girl said as he walked beside 
her. 

“ Guarded! Yes. Poor Edna has fallen their victim. 
Next, my darling, it might be you yourself! But of 
the motive I can discern nothing.” 

“ I! What have I done ? ” cried the girl, 
looking straight at him. “ No, surely I can have no 
enemies.” 


The Light of Love 187 

“ We all have enemies, darling. Ah! you do not 
yet realize that in our life to-day falsehoods are daily 
food and that a lie is small coinage in which the inter¬ 
change of the world, francs, marks, dollars, or 
diplomacy, is carried on to the equal convenience of 
us all. Lying lips are no longer an abomination. 
They are part of our daily existence.” 

“You are horribly philosophic, Roddy!” she said 
with a laugh. But I quite understand that it is so. 
The scandals in politics and in society prove it every 
day.” 

“ Yes. And let us—both of us—now that we love 
each other, be forewarned of the mysterious evil that 
threatens.” 

“ How ? ” 

“ I can’t tell. Yet I have a vague premonition that 
though the sun shines to-day, that all is bright and 
glorious, and that the clear horizon of our lives is 
speckless, yet very soon a darkness will arise to 
obscure further the mystery of that night in Welling 
Wood.” 

“ I sincerely hope not. Let us leave the affair 
to Inspector Fuller,” said Elma. “ He was down to 
see my father the night before last. I do not know 
what was said. I left them together in the library 
when I went to bed.” 

“ You heard nothing? ” 

“ Only as I came in I heard Fuller mention 
the name of your friend Andrew Barclay, who 
has gone to Marseilles ^ to see the Moorish 
Minister.” 

“ Yes, Barclay is certainly my friend. But 


i88 The Voice from the Void 

how could the detective have possibly known 
that ? ” 

“ Detectives are strangely inquisitive people/’ re¬ 
marked the girl, as hand in hand they went down the 
hill. 

That is so. And I only hope Mr. Fuller will 
discover the truth concerning poor Edna Manners. 
Ah! I recollect it all so well. And yet the recollection 
goes giddily round and round and round in a sicken¬ 
ing whirl of colour before my blinded eyes. It 
is all horrible! And it is all hideous and incredible. 
She died! I dashed to raise the alarm—and then I 
know no more! All I recollect is that I grovelled, 
frightened, sobbing! I saw the shimmering of 
sun-rays through the darkness of leaves. I was 
in a strange garden and it was day! And always since, 
whenever I have closed my eyes, I can see it still! ” 

“ No, Roddy,” she urged. “ Try to put it all aside. 
Try not to think of it! ” 

“ But I can’t forget it! ” he cried, covering his face 
with his hands. ‘‘ I can’t—I can’t—it is all so terrible 
—horrible.” 

In sympathy the girl took his arm. Her touch 
aroused him. Of a sudden all the strength of his being 
came to his aid. 

‘‘ Forgive me, darling! Forgive me! ” he 
craved. 

And together they crossed the low old stile into the 
road which led down through a quaint little village, 
and out on the way to Haslemere. 

On that same morning at noon Richard Allen again 
stood in the dining-room at Willowden, when Gordon 


The Light of Love 189 

3.1ias Rex Rutherford, entered. He was in a 
light motor-coat, having just returned from his tour 
to Scotland. 

Well, Dick !'' he cried cheerily in that easy, 
good-humoured way of his, that cheerful man¬ 
nerism by which he made so many friends. “ So you’ve 
had luck—eh ? ” 

“ Yes, after a narrow escape. Got caught, and had 
to fight a way out,” laughed the other. 

“ Not the first time. Do you recollect that night in 
Cannes two years ago? By Jove! I thought we were 
done.’^ 

Don’t let’s talk of nasty things,” his friend said. 
“ Here’s the precious little map—the secret of the 
Wad Sus mines.” 

‘‘ Splendid! ” cried Gray, taking the small 
piece of folded paper to the window. “ By Jove I 
it gives exact measurements in metres, and minute 
directions.” 

“ Yes. And the old Minister has in his 
possession a great emerald taken from the ancient 
workings.” 

‘‘We ought to get that. It will show bona fides 
when we deal with the concession. It would be bet¬ 
ter to buy it than to get it by other means. If it were 
stolen there would be a hue-and-cry raised. But if 
we could get it honestly—honestly, mark you, Dick!— 
we could get the official certificate saying where and 
when it was found.” 

“True!” remarked Allen, who chanced to be 
standing near the window and whose attention had 
suddenly been attracted by a movement in the 


190 The Voice from the Void 

bushes on the opposite side of the lawn. “ But don’t 
move, Gordon! ” he cried quickly. “ Keep quiet! 
Don’t show yourself! Get back behind the cur¬ 
tains. There’s somebody over in the bushes yonder, 
watching the window! Just by the yew-tree there. 
Watch I ” 

In an instant Gordon Gray was on the alert. For 
some moments both men stood with bated breath, 
watching eagerly. 

Suddenly the figure moved and a ray of sunlight 
revealed a woman’s face. 

“ By Gad! Dick I Yes, I’ve seen that woman some¬ 
where before! What can be her game? She’s evi¬ 
dently taking observations! Call Freda and Jimmie, 
quick! We must all get out of this at once! There’s 
not a second to lose! Quick!** 


CHAPTER XVII 

THE EARS OF THE BLIND 

The discovery of the watcher at Willowden was most 
disconcerting to Gray and his accomplices. 

They recognized the stranger as a person who had 
once kept observation upon them in London two years 
before, and now saw to their dismay that their head- 
quarters had been discovered. 

So^ that night Gray and Claribut worked hard in 
frantic haste and dismantled the wireless installa¬ 
tion, which they packed in boxes, while Freda 
^gerly collected her own belongings. Then mak¬ 
ing sure that they were not still being watched 
they stowed the boxes in the car, and creeping 

forth sped rapidly away along the Great North 
Road. 

I don^t like the look of things! Gray muttered 
to Freda, who sat beside him. WeVe only got away 
in the nick of time. The police might have been upon 

us before morning. We’ll have to be extremely 
careful.” 

And then a silence fell between them as they drove 
through the pelting rain. Once again they had 
wriggled out of an awkward situation. 

At a first-floor window of an ancient half-tim¬ 
bered house in a narrow, dingy street behind the 


192 The Voice from the Void 

cathedral in quaint old Bayeux, in Normandy, a pretty, 
fair-haired young girl was sitting in the sunshine, her 
hands lying idly in her lap. 

It was noon. The ill-paved street below—a street 
of sixteenth-century houses with heavy carved wood¬ 
work and quaint gables—was deserted, as the great 
bell of the magnificent old cathedral, built by Odo, the 
bishop, after the Norman Conquest of Britain, boomed 
forth the hour of twelve. 

The girl did not move or speak. She seldom 
did, because first, her blue eyes were fixed and 
sightless, and, secondly, she was always strange of 
manner. 

Jean Nicole, the boot-repairer, and his wife, with 
whom the girl lived, were honest country folk of Nor¬ 
mandy. Both came from Vaubadon, a remote little 
village on the road to St. L6. After the war they 
had moved to Bayeux, when one day they chanced to 
see an advertisement in the Quest Eclair, an advertise¬ 
ment inviting a trustworthy married couple to take 
charge of a young lady who was slightly mentally de¬ 
ficient, and offering a good recompense. 

They answered the advertisement, with the re-, 
suit that they were invited to the Hotel de 
rUnivers at St. Malo, where the worthy pair were 
shown up to a private sitting-room wherein sat a 
well-dressed Englishman and a smartly-attired woman, 
his wife. 

They explained that they had been left in charge 
of the young lady in question, who was unfortunately 
blind. Her father’s sudden death, by accident, had 


Xhe Ears of the Blind 192 

so preyed upon her mind that it had become de¬ 
ranged. 

The man, who gave the name of Mr. Hugh Ford 
^plained that he and his wife were sailing from' 
ayre to New York on business on the fol¬ 
lowing Saturday, and they required someone to 
look after the unfortunate young lady during their 

absence. Would Monsieur and Madame Nicole do 
so? 

^ The boot-repairer and his stout spouse, eager to 
increase their income, expressed their readiness, and 
within an hour arrangements were made, an agree¬ 
ment drawn up by which the pair were to receive from 
a bank m Paris a certain monthly sum for made¬ 
moiselle’s maintenance, and the young lady was intro¬ 
duced to them. 

Her affliction of blindness was pitiable. Her eyes 
seemed fixed as she groped her way across the room, 
and It was with difficulty that her guardian made her 
understand that she was going to live with new 
friends. 

At last she uttered two words only in Knglish. 

“ I understand.” 

The middle-aged Frenchman and his wife knew no 
English, while it seemed that the young lady knew no 
French. 

'‘Her name is Betty Grayson,” explained Mr. 
Ford, speaking in French. ‘‘She seldom speaks. 
Yet at times she will, perhaps, become talkative, and 
will probably tell you in English some absurd 
story or other, always highly dramatic, about some 
terrible crime. But, as I tell you. Monsieur Nicole 


194 The Voice from the Void 

her mind is unhinged, poor girl! So take no notice 
of her fantastic imagination.” 

Tres bien, monsieur'' replied the dark-faced boot- 
repairer. “I quite follow. Poor mademoiselle! ” 

“ Yes. Her affliction is terribly unfortunate. 
You see her condition—quite hopeless, alas! She 
must have complete mental rest. To be in the 
presence of people unduly excites her, therefore it 
is best to keep her indoors as much as possible. And 
when she goes out, let it be at night when nobody is 
about.” 

I understand, monsieur.” 

“ The best London specialists on mental diseases 
have already examined her. Poor Betty I They have 
told me her condition, therefore, if she gets worse 
it will be useless to call in a doctor. And she may 
get worse,” he added meaningly, after a pause. 

“ And when will monsieur and madame be back ? ” 
inquired Madame Nicole. 

“ It is quite impossible to tell how long my business 
will take,” was Mr. Ford’s reply. “ We shall leave 
Havre by the Homeric on Saturday, and I hope we 
shall be back by November. But your monthly pay¬ 
ments will be remitted to you by the Credit Lyonnais 
until our return.” 

So the pair had gone back by train from St. 
Malo to quiet old Bayeux, to that dingy, ram¬ 
shackle old house a few doors from that ancient 
mansion, now the museum in which is preserved 
in long glass cases the wonderful strip of linen 
cloth worked in outline by Queen Matilda and her 
ladies, representing the Conquest of England by her 


The Ears of the Blind 195 

husband, William of Normandy, and the overthrow 
of Harold—one of the treasures of our modern world. 
On the way there they found that Miss Grayson could, 
speak French. 

The rooms to which they brought the poor sightless 
English mademoiselle were small and frowsy. The 
atmosphere was close, and pervaded by the odour 
of a stack of old boots which Monsieur Nicole kept 
in the small back room, in which he cut leather 

and hammered tacks from early morn till night¬ 
fall. 

From the front window at which the girl sat daily, 
inert and uninterested, a statuesque figure, silent and 
sightless, a good view could be obtained of the won¬ 
derful west fagade of the magnificent Gothic Cathedral, 
the bells of which rang forth their sweet musical carillon 
four times each hour. 

Summer sightseers who, with guide-book in hand, 
passed up the old Rue des Chanoines to the door of 
the Cathedral, she heard, but she could not see. Ameri¬ 
cans, of whom there were many, and a sprinkling of 
English, chattered and laughed upon their pilgrimage 
to the magnificent masterpiece of the Conqueror’s 
half-brother, and some of them glanced up and won¬ 
dered at the motionless figure seated staring out straight 
before her. 

It is curious how very few English travellers ever 
go to Bayeux, the cradle of their race, and yet how 
many Americans are interested in the famous tapestries 
and the marvellous monument in stone. 

On that warm noon as Betty Grayson sat back in 
the window, silent and motionless, her brain suddenly 


196 The Voice from the Void 

became stirred, as it was on occasions, by recollections, 
weird, horrible and fantastic. 

Madame Nicole, in her full black dress and the 
curious muslin cap of the shape that has been worn 
for centuries by the villagers of Vaubadon—for each 
village in Normandy has its own fashion in women’s 
caps so that the denizens of one village can, in the 
markets, be distinguished from tliose of another— 
crossed the room from the heavy, old oak sideboard, 
laying the midday meal. In the room beyond Jean, 
her husband, was earning his daily bread tapping, and 
ever tapping upon the boots. 

“ Madame,” exclaimed the girl, rising with a sud¬ 
denness which caused the boot-repairer’s wife to 
start. There is a strange man below. He 
keeps passing and re-passing and looking up at 
me. 

The stout, stolid Frenchwoman in her neat and spot¬ 
less cap started, and smiled good-humouredly. 

“ Then you can see at last—eh ? ” she cried. “ Per¬ 
haps he is only some sightseer from the Agence 
Cook.” The woman was astounded at the sudden 
recovery of the girl’s sight. 

“No. I do not think so. He looks like an English 
business man. Come and see,” said the girl. 

Madame crossed to the window, but only two 
women were in sight, neighbours who lived across 
the way, and with them was old Abbe Laugee who 
had just left his confessional and was on his way 
home to dejeuner. 

“ Ah! He’s gone! ” the girl said in French. “ I 


The Ears of the Blind 


197 


saw him passing along last evening, and he seemed 
to be greatly interested in this house.” 

He may perhaps have a friend living above us ” 
suggested Madame Nicole. 

Scarcely had she replied, however, when a 

knock was heard at'the outside door, which, on 

being opened, revealed the figure of a rather tall 

spruce-looking Englishman, well-dressed in a dark grev 
suit. ^ 


I beg pardon, madame,” he said in good French, 

" but I believe you have a Mademoiselle Grayson living 
with you ? ” ^ 

Ere the woman could speak the girl rushed for¬ 
ward, and staring straight into the face of the man 
cried: ’ 

Why! It’s—it’s actually Mr. Porter! ” 

The man laughed rather uneasily, though he well 

concealed his chagrin. He had believed that she was 
blind. 


'I fear you have mistaken me for somebody else,” 
he said. Then, turning to the woman, he remarked: 
“ This is Miss Grayson, I suppose ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, monsieur.” 

“Ah! Then she imagines me to be somebody 
named Porter—eh ? ” he remarked in a tone of 
pity. 

I imagine nothing,” declared the girl vehemently. 
“ I used to, but I am now growing much better, and 
I begin to recollect. I recognize you as Mr. Arthur 
Porter, whom I last saw at Willowden, near Welwyn. 
And you know it is the truth.” 


198 The Voice from the Void 

The man strugged his shoulders, and turning to 
Madame Nicole said in French: 

“ I have heard that mademoiselle is suffering from 
—well, from hallucinations.” 

'' Yes, monsieur, she does. For days she will 
scarcely speak. Her memory comes and goes 
quite suddenly. And she has to-day recovered her 
sight.” 

“ That is true,” replied the pretty blue-eyed girl. 
‘‘ I recognize this gentleman as Mr. Arthur Porter,” 
she cried again. “ I recollect many things—that night 
at Farncombe when—when I learnt the truth, and then 
lost my reason.” 

“ Take no notice, monsieur,” the woman urged. 
“ Poor mademoiselle! She tells us some very 
odd stories sometimes—about a young man whom 
she calls Monsieur Willard. She says he was 
murdered.” 

“ And so he was! ” declared the girl in English. 
“ Mr. Homfray can bear me out! He can prove it! ” 
she said determinedly. 

Their visitor was silent for a moment. Then he 
asked: 

“ What is this strange story ? ” 

“ You know it as well as I do, Mr. Porter,” she 
replied bitterly. But the stranger only smiled again as 
though in pity. 

My name is not Porter,” he assured her. ** 1 
am a doctor, and my name is George Crowe, a 
friend of your guardian, Mr. Ford. He called 
upon me in Philadelphia a few weeks ago, and as 


The Ears of the Blind 199 

I was travelling to Paris he asked me to come here 
and see you/^ 

ft, ** S’"’- “ you stand 

there and deny that you are Arthur Porter, the 
inend of that woman, Freda Crisp! 

“I certainly do deny it! And further, I have not 
the pleasure of knowing your friend.’’ 

Betty Grayson drew a long breath as 

her blue eyes narrowed and her brow knit in 
anger. 

“I know that because of my lapses of memory 
and my muddled brain I am not believed,” she 
said “But I tell you that poor Mr. Willard was 
killed—murdered, and that the identity of the cul¬ 
prits IS known to me as well as to old Mr. Homfrav 
the rector of Little Farncombe.” 

Ah! That is most interesting,” remarked the 
doctor, humouring her as he wou!d a child. “And 
who, pray, was this Mr. Willard?” 

“ Mr. Willard was engaged to be married to 
me. she said in a hard voice. “He lived in a 
house m Hyde Park Square, in London, a house 
which his father had left him, and he also had a 
pretty seaside house near Cromer. But he was 
blackmailed by that adventuress, your friend Mrs 
Crisp. .„d .he„ he decided „„™kld 

prosecute the woman and her friends he was one 
morning found dead in very mysterious circum¬ 
stances. At first it was believed that he had com¬ 
mitted suicide, but on investigation it was found 
that such was not the case. He had been killed 
by some secret and subtle means which puzzled 


200 The Voice from the Void 


and baffled the police. The murder is still an un¬ 
solved mystery.” 

“ And you know the identity of the person whom 
you allege killed your lover—eh ? ” asked the doctor 
with interest. 

‘‘ Yes, I do. And so does Mr. Homfray.” 

“ Then why have neither of you given 
information to the police ? ” asked the visitor 
seriously. 

“ Because of certain reasons—reasons known to 
old Mr. Homfray.” 

“This Mr. Homfray is your friend, I take it?” 

“ He is a clergyman, and he is my friend,” 
was her reply. Then suddenly she added: “ But 
why should I tell you this when you yourself are 
a friend of the woman Crisp, and of Gordon 
Gray?” 

“ My dear young lady,” he exclaimed, laughing, 
“ you are really making a very great error. To 
my knowledge I have never seen you before I 

passed this house last evening, and as for this Mrs. 
Crisp, I have never even heard of her! Yet what 
you tell me concerning Hugh Willard is certainly 

of great interest.” 

“ Hugh Willard! ” she cried. “ You betray your¬ 
self, Mr. Porter! How do you know his Christian 

name? Tell me that!” 

“ Because you have just mentioned it,” replied 
the man, not in the least perturbed. 

“ I certainly have not! ” she declared, while 
Madame Nicole, not understanding English, stood 


201 


The Ears of the Blind 

aside trying to gather the drift of the conversa- 
tion. 

The man s assertion that his name was Crowe, 
and that he was a doctor when she had recognized 
him as an intimate friend of the woman who 
had blackmailed her lover, aroused the girl's 
anger and indignation. Why was he there in 
Bayeux ? 

“ I tell you that you are Arthur Porter, the 
friend of Gordon Gray and his unscrupulous circle 
of friends! ” cried the girl, who, turning to the 
stout Frenchwoman, went on in French: “ This 

man is an impostor! He calls himself a doctor, 
yet I recognize him as a man named Porter, the 
friend of the woman who victimized the man I 
loved! Do not believe him I " 

Madame I" exclaimed the visitor with a be- 
nign smile, as he bowed slightly. I think we 
can dismiss all these dramatic allegations made 
by poor mademoiselle—can we not ? Your own 
observations have,” he said, speaking in French, 

“ shown you the abnormal state of the young 
lady’s mind. She is, I understand, prone 
to imagining tragic events, and making state¬ 
ments that are quite unfounded. For that reason 
Mr. Ford asked- me to call and see her, because 
—to be frank—I am a specialist on mental 
diseases.” 

Ah! Doctor! I fear that mademoiselle’s 
mind is much unbalanced by her poor father’s 
death,” said the woman. “ Monsieur Ford ex¬ 
plained it all to me, and urged me to take no notice 


202 The Voice from the Void 

of her wild statements. When is Mr. Ford return¬ 
ing to France ? ” 

“ In about three months, I believe. Then he 
will no doubt relieve you of your charge—which, 

I fear, must be a heavy one.” 

“ Sometimes, yes. But mademoiselle has 
never been so talkative and vehement as she is 
to-day.” 

“ Because I, perhaps, bear some slight resem¬ 
blance to some man she once knew—the man named 
Porter, I suppose.” 

“You are Arthur Porter!” declared the girl in 
French. “ When I first saw you hazily last night 
I thought that you resembled him, but now I see 
you closer and plainly I know that you are 1 I 
would recognize you by your eyes among a thou¬ 
sand men! ” 

But the visitor only shrugged his shoulders again 
and declared to madame that mademoiselle’s hallu¬ 
cinations were, alas! pitiable. 

Then he questioned the woman about her 
charge, and when he left he handed her a five- 
hundred-franc note which he said Mr. Ford had 
sent to her. 

But a few moments later when on his way down 
the narrow, old-world street with its overhanging 
houses, he muttered ominously to himself in 
English: 

“ I must get back to Gordon as soon as possible. 
That girl is more dangerous than we ever contem¬ 
plated. As we believed, she knows too much—far 
too much! And if Sandys finds her then all will ■ 


The Ears of the Blind 203 

be lost. It was a false step of Gordon’s to leave 
her over here. She is recovering. The situation 
is distinctly dangerous. Therefore we must act— 
without delay! ” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


WILES OF THE WICKED 

On the day that Arthur Porter, under the guise of 
a doctor from Philadelphia, had visited Edna Man¬ 
ners at quaint old Bayeux, Roddy Homfray had, 
since early morning, been in his wireless room at 
Little Farncombe Rectory, making some experiments 
with the new receiving-set which he had constructed 
in a cigar-box. 

The results had been highly satisfactory and 
very gratifying. He had been experimenting with 
a new organic and easily manufactured super¬ 
sensitive crystal which he had discovered to be a 
very delicate detector of wireless waves when an 
electrical circuit was passed through it, and by 
dint of long and patient tests of pressure elec¬ 
tricity, had come to the conclusion that it was quite 
as effective as the usual three valves. This meant 
a very great improvement in the reception of wire¬ 
less telephony. 

As that afternoon he sat at tea with his father 
he explained the trend of his piezo-electric ex¬ 
periments. The discovery was entirely his own, 
for though others had experimented with in¬ 
organic crystals, quartz and gems, trying to solve 
the riddle why sugar and certain salts should 
cool from liquid into different patterns of crystals, 

204 


Wiles of the Wicked 205 

nobody had ever dreamed of constructing such 

a detector or of using such a manufactured 
crystal.” 

The secret of the new crystals was his own, 
and, judging from the efficiency of the new portable 
receiving set, would be of very considerable value. 
When, later on, deaf old Mrs. Bentley had cleared 

the table, father and son sat smoking, and Roddy 
said: 

I m going along to the Towers to dinner. 
Mr. Sandys has asked me to have a hand at bridge 
afterwards.” 

Elma is away, isn’t she ? ” 

‘‘Yes. At Harrogate with her aunt. She re¬ 
turns on Tuesday,” the young man replied. *^And 
to-morrow Barclay meets the Kaid Ahmed-el- 
Hafid at the Ritz to receive the concession. He 
had a telegram from the Kaid last Friday to say 
that the concession had been granted in my name, 

and that he was leaving Tangiers with it on the 
following day.” 

Well, my boy, it really looks as though 
Fortune is about to smile on you at last! But 
we must always remember that she is but a fickle 
jade at best.” 

“Yes, father. I shall not feel safe until the 
concession is actually in my hands. Barclay has 
promised to introduce me to the Kaid, who will 
give me every assistance in my prospecting 
expedition. It is fortunate that we already hold 

the secret of the exact jXDsition of the ancient 
workings.” 


2o6 The Voice from the Void 


“ It is, my boy,’' remarked the old rector 
thoughtfully. “ Possibly you can induce Mr. 
Sandys to finance the undertaking and float a com¬ 
pany—eh ? ” 

“ That is my idea,” his son replied. “ But I 
shall not approach him until I have been out to 
the Wad Sus and seen for myself. Then I can 
speak with authority, and conduct to the spot 
any expert engineer he may like to send out 
there.” 

Afterwards Roddy glanced at the old grand¬ 
father clock with its brass face which stood in the 
corner, rose, and after dressing, shouted a merry 
“ good-bye ” to the rector, and left the house to 
dine with the great financier, with whose daughter 
he was so deeply in love. 

Their secret they withheld from Mr. Sandys. 
Theirs was a fierce, all-absorbing passion, a 
mutual affection that was intense. They loved 
each other fondly and, Mr. Sandys being so often 
in London, they saw each other nearly every day. 
Indeed, for hours on end Elma would sit in the 
wireless-room and assist her lover in those delicate 
and patient experiments which he had been daily 
making. Roddy, in the weeks that had passed, 
had regained his normal condition, though some¬ 
times, at odd moments, he still experienced curious 
lapses of memory. 

Old Mr. Horn fray had not been very well of 
late. His heart was naturally weak, and the 
doctor had for several years warned him against 
any undue excitement or hurrying when walking 


207 


Wiles of the Wicked 

uphill. Once while conducting morning service, 
he was seized by faintness and was prevented from 
preaching his sermon. The narrow, gossiping 
world of Little Farncombe declared that their rector 
needed a change, and Mr. Homfray had promised 
his churchwardens that he would take one as soon 
as he could get someone to look after the parish 
in his absence. 

On the previous day he had received a letter 
from Gray’s solicitors informing him that the mort¬ 
gaged property at Totnes had been sold, and en¬ 
closing the paltry sum of fourteen pounds twelve 
shillings as the balance due to him. This fact had 
irritated him and caused him the greatest indigna¬ 
tion. Gordon Gray had defied him and had fore¬ 
closed the mortgage after all! He had, however, 
made no mention of it to Roddy. The matter was 
his secret and his alone, for it so closely concerned 
that closed chapter of his earlier days. 

To Roddy his own strange experience follow¬ 
ing the tragic discovery in Welling Wood was 
still a mystery. Only a few days before he had, 
out of sheer curiosity, taken train to Welwyn and 
walked out to Willowden. But the house was 
closed and the garden neglected, and on inquiry 
in the neighbourhood he had learnt that the people 
from London had taken the place furnished, and 
that their lease being up they had left. Where 
they had gone nobody knew. 

To Park Lane Mr. Rex Rutherford—as 
Gordon Gray called himself—had accompanied 
his friend Porter, alias Harrison, on two occasions. 


2o8 The Voice from the Void 


and had endeavoured to make himself extremely 
affable to Elma, by whose extraordinary beauty 
he had become greatly attracted. The girl, how¬ 
ever, instinctively disliked him. Why, she could 
not herself tell. He was elegantly-dressed, and 
his manners were those of a gentleman, yet he had 
an oleaginous air about him which annoyed her on 
both occasions. Once she had been compelled to 
dance with him, and he had been full of empty 
compliments. But on subsequent occasions when 
he requested “ the pleasure ” she managed to excuse 
herself. 

Indeed, she went so far as to suggest to her 
father that he should not invite Mr. Ruther¬ 
ford again. Mr. Sandys was rather surprised, 
but said nothing, and obeyed his daughter’s 
wish. 

Roddy had left the Rectory about an hour 
and the dusk was gathering into night, when a 
closed car with strong headlights, coming from 
the direction of London and driven by a middle- 
aged man, drew up outside the village, and from 
it there alighted a short, stout man wearing a green 
velour Homburg hat. 

“ I won’t be long,” he remarked to the driver, 
and at once set out on foot in the direction of the 
Rectory. 

Old Norton Horn fray was in his study looking 
up a text in his big well-worn “ Cruden,” when 
he heard a ring, and knowing Mrs. Bentley to 
be upstairs—and that if downstairs she would 
never hear it—he went to the door and threw it 


Wiles of the Wicked 209 

open, expecting his visitor to be one of his 
parishioners. 

Instead, he came face to face with his enemy, 
Gordon Gray. 

For a second he was too surprised for 
words. 

Well,” he asked with dignity, why are you 
here ? ” 

“ Oh!—well, I happened . to be near here, and 
I thought Fd just pay you a call. I want to see 
you. May I come in ? ” 

If you wish,” growled the old clergyman, ad¬ 
mitting him and conducting him to the study where 
the lamp was lit. 

Then when his visitor was in the room, he turned 
to him and said: 

“ So you have carried out your threat. Gray, 
and sold my houses in Totnes—eh? Youve taken 
my little income from me, as that woman told me 
you intended.” 

“ I had to; I’m so hard-up. Since the war Fve 
been very hard hit,” replied the man. Fm sorry, 
of course.” 

“ Yes. I suppose you are very sorry! ” sarcasti¬ 
cally remarked the old man, pale with anger. “ Once, 
Gray, I trusted you, and-” 

“ And I befriended you in consequence,” inter¬ 
rupted the other. I lent you money.” 

You did—to your own advantage,” said the 
old rector bitterly. But let all that pass. I 
want you to tell me—nay, I demand to know! 



210 The Voice from the Void 


—what occurred in the wood outside this house 
on the night when Freda came here in secret ? ” 

“ How do I know ? I was not here.” 

You were here. I saw you in church.” 

I came to listen to the excellent maxims you 
put before these yokels—you, who have been in 
a criminal dock. A fine moral leader you are, 
Norton!” he laughed scornfully. “You ought to 
be hounded out of the parish as a hypocrite and a 
black-coated humbug. And if you don’t take care 
you will be! ” 

“And you! I-” 

“ Take care. I know too much for you, 
remember,” said Gray seriously. 

“ You ruin me, and now you would blackmail 
me—as you and that woman Crisp have black¬ 
mailed others. I know your game. It has been 
played too long.” 

“ You are making allegations that may prove 
as dangerous to yourself as to me, Homfray,” said 
the adventurer coldly, gazing straight into the other’s 
eyes. 

“What do you mean?” cried the rector fiercely. 
“ I know something—and I suspect a good deal more. 
Edna Manners died in Welling Wood on that fatal 
night, and my boy Roddy, because he discovered her, 
fell into your unscrupulous hands. Now, confess it 
—or, by Heaven! I’ll tell the truth concerning young 
Willard! ” 

“ Really, Homfray,” the visitor remarked, quite 
unperturbed. “ You’re a very nice, delightful parson 
—eh? Fancy you preaching in that pulpit, as I 



211 


Wiles of the Wicked 

sat and listened to you on that Sunday night! You 
—of all men I ’’ 

‘‘I demand to know the truth. Poor Edna was 
to marry that boy whom you, with that 
accursed woman, fleeced with such audacity. And 
you had the further audacity to ask me to assist 
you in your vile plans.'' 

“Why not? You live askew, just as we do— 
only you are slick enough to put on a clerical collar, 
as to six-tenths of the world the ‘cloth’ can do 
no evil," he laughed. 

“Edna Manners knew too much for you. I 
recognized her from Roddy’s description. And then 
Roddy himself was drugged—or something." 

“It is a matter which neither of us need discuss, 
Homfray,” said the other. “ There is six of me and 
half a dozen of you. Your son is all right again, 
deep in his wireless experiments and, I hear, in love 
with a very charming girl. What more do you 
want ? " 

“I want justice and fair play!-" said the old 
rector in desperation. “You, whom I believed to 
be my real friend, have played a deep and crooked 
game. Place your cards on the table for once. 
Gray, and tell me why. I have never been your 
enemy—only your friend! " 

The stocky, beady-eyed adventurer paused for a 
few seconds. The question nonplussed him. Sud¬ 
denly he blurted forth: 

“ You didn't play a straight game over young 
Willard. We might have shared equally thirty 


212 The Voice from the Void 


thousand pounds, but you wouldn’t. I confess, 
Homfray, your refusal annoyed me.” 

“ Oh! Then that is the secret! ” he said. ‘‘ I 
recollect it all. I told you that if you attempted to 
make that coup and divest the poor boy of every¬ 
thing so that he could not marry Edna, I would 
go to the police. You pretended to withhold your 
hand in fear of my threat. But Freda and your 
unscrupulous friend ‘ Guinness ’ managed to get the 
money from him and afterwards close his mouth so 
that the poor lad could tell no tales.” 

“ It’s a lie! A damnable lie! ” cried Gray, fiercely 
indignant. 

“ I have only spoken the truth, and you know it,” 
declared the old rector calmly. “ As a minister of 
the Gospel, I am not in the habit of lying or being 
uncharitable towards my fellow-men.” 

“ Oh! stop that silly rot! You are on a par with 
us. Don’t pose as a saint! ” 

“ I am not a saint by any means. Gray. But I 
try to live honestly and in the fear of God.” 

“ And the fear of man also, I hope! ” the other 
laughed. “ Look here, is it to be war to the end 
between us? Or will you consider a little proposition 
I have in mind? Remember that I can very easily 
go to your bishop and have you kicked out of this 
little snuggery of yours. And what would your 
dear son think of all your past adventures—eh?” 

* Do it. Go to the bishop! ” cried the poor old 
rector in desperation. I tell you that I will never 
lift a finger to aid an assassin.” 

“Whom do. you call an assassin?” asked Gray, 


Wiles of the Wicked 213 

putting forward his dark face threateningly to the 
rector. 

You Gordon Gray! ’’ replied the elder man fear¬ 
lessly. “ I know the truth concerning that poor boy 
Willard s death, and now that you have ruined me 
I have determined to risk my position here and reveal 
the truth! 

Gray, never at a loss for words, stood silent. 
Homfray^s pale determined countenance told him 
that he meant what he had said. He realized, for 
the first time, that in attacking Roddy he had taken 
a false step. The boy’s father suspected the truth. 
Nay, he knew it. 

But there was the concession—and Elma! He 
was determined, at all hazards, to possess himself of 
both as the crowning point of his marvellously 
adventurous career. 

defy you to utter a single word!” cried Gray, 
with clenched fists. If you do, it will be the worse 
for you I Remember that I ” ^ 

“ I repeat what I told your accomplice, Freda 
Crisp. I will rid society of you both as social pests 
vampires who prey upon the unwary and inex¬ 
perienced,” shouted the old clergyman in a frenzy 
of anger. “ You have attacked me and mine, and 
now I will, in turn, retaliate. Get out of my house 
this instant! ” 

Gordon Gray glanced keenly at the old rector 
with his shrewd dark eyes and shrugged his shoulders. 

Homfray, you are a fool! ” he declared. “ Why 
can’t we arrange matters? I came here to put a 
little proposition to you—that I should join your 


214 The Voice from the Void 

son in that mining concession he is obtaining from 
the Moorish Government.” 

“ Join my son! ” shrieked the old man. “ I would 
rather that Roddy grasped hands with Satan himself 
than with you! I—I-” 

And his face became crimson as he gasped for 
breath, and suddenly clutched wildly at his throat. 
“ I—I-” 

But he uttered no further intelligible word. Next 
second a seizure, due to the violent excitement, held 
him rigid, and a few seconds later he sank into the 
arm-chair and expired in the presence of his enemy, 
thus carrying with him to the grave the secret of 
Hugh Willard’s tragic end. 

Gordon Gray stood there in silence and watching 
with interest, amused rather than otherwise, realizing 
that Nature herself had, by a strange freak, effected 
still another coup in his own interests. 

The one enemy he feared had been swept from his 
path! Of Roddy he took no heed. 

The road to fortune and to Elma was now rendered 
clear for him. 




CHAPTER XIX 


A MATTER OF URGENCY 

When Roddy Homfray returned from Farncombe 
Towers shortly before midnight he was staggered to 
find his father lying back in his arm-chair. 

Horrified, he tried to rouse him. But at once he 
saw that he was dead. 

He raised the alarm, and Doctor Denton was at 
once fetched out in his pyjamas from the other end 
of the village. 

“ As I feared,’’ said his friend when he saw the 
dead rector. “He has had another heart attack which 
has unfortunately proved fatal.” 

‘‘ But he was quite all right and bright when I left 
him at seven,” Roddy cried in despair. 

“No doubt. But your father has had a weak heart 
for years. I’ve attended him for it, so there will 
be no need for an inquest. Indeed, only a week 
ago I warned him that any undue excitement might 
end fatally.” 

“ But he has had no excitement! ” cried the dead 
man’s son, looking in despair around the cosy little 
study, where upon the writing-table “ Cruden’s Con¬ 
cordance ” still lay open, as it had done when Gordon 
Gray had entered. 

“ Apparently not,” Denton admitted. “ But per¬ 
haps he may have been secretly worrying over some- 

215 


2i6 The Voice from the Void 


thing. We shall, I fear, never know. Your father 
was a rather secretive man, I believe, wasn’t he, 
Roddy ? ” 

‘‘ Yes. He was. He held some secret or other 
from me, the nature of which I could never make 
out,” said his son, overcome with grief. At first 
he could not believe that his father, whom he idolized, 
was actually dead. But now he realized his loss, 
and tears were rolling down his cheeks. 

“A secret! ” exclaimed his friend the doctor. “Of 
what nature ? ” 

“ I have no idea. He once warned me against a 
certain man and a certain woman, who were appar¬ 
ently his enemies. But he would tell me nothing 
definite—nothing I ” 

“ When you came home, was the front-door 
locked ? ” asked the doctor. 

“ No, my father always leaves it unlocked for 
me.” 

“He expected you to come in later, and was 
no doubt at work here preparing his sermon,” 
said Denton, glancing at the open reference book 
lying upon the blotting-pad. Indeed, beside the 
copy of Cruden was a sheet of sermon paper 
with a number of headings written in the neat uni¬ 
form hand of a classical scholar, as old Mr. Homfray 
was. 

“Yes. It seems so,” said his son. “Apparently 
he felt the seizure approaching, and, leaving the table, 
crossed to the chair, and sinking into it, he breathed 
his last. Poor dear father! Why was I not here to 


A Matter of Urgency 217 

assist him, instead of playing bridge? I—I’ll never 
forgive myself, Denton! ” 

“ But you could not have foretold this. Who 
could ? asked his friend. “ Endocarditis, from 
which your father was suffering, is quite a common 
complaint and very often causes sudden death, 
especially when it is ulcerative, as in your 

lamented father s case. No medical aid would have 
saved him.” 

“ And he knew this, and never told me! ” cried 
Roddy. 

“He was secretive, as I have already said,” 
answered the doctor. “/Your poor father’s death 
was caused by embolism; I have suspected it for 
some time.” 

While Roddy and Denton were speaking at 

the dead man’s side, Gordon Gray entered the 

tawdrily-decorated dancing-room of a certain dis¬ 

reputable night-club off Regent Street known as 

The Gay Hundred ”—a haunt of cocaine sellers 
and takers—and glanced eagerly around. He had 
driven up in his car a few doors away, and the door¬ 
keeper had bowed to him and taken his coat and 
hat as he rushed in. 

His quick eyes espied a table in the corner 
at which sat Freda Crisp, in a daring black-and- 
orange gown without sleeves, smoking a cigarette 
in an amber holder, laughing, and drinking 
chamj>agne with two young men in evening 

clothes, while about them whirled many couples 
dancing, the women mostly with artificially fair hair 
and wearing deeply-cut gowns, while some of them 


2i8 The Voice from the Void 

smoked cigarettes as they danced to the wild strains 
of the blatant orchestra. 

Freda’s eyes met those of her friend Gray, 
and she read in them a message. She was a 
woman of quick perception and astounding in¬ 
tuition. Her adventures had been many and 
constant, and if she could have recorded them in 
print the book would certainly have been amongst 

the best sellers of which the public hear so 
much. 

The men with her were strangers to Gordon, 
therefore, assuming an instant carelessness, he 
lounged over, bowed, and greeted her. He did 
not know on what terms she was with the pair 
with whom she was drinking bubbly,” whether, 
indeed, they were pigeons worth plucking. There¬ 
fore his attitude was one of extreme caution. Gordon 
Gray was far too clever ever to spoil “ a good thing ” 
in the course of being engineered by any of his 
accomplices of either sex. 

“ Oh! Good-evening, Mr. Gray! ” Freda ex¬ 
claimed. “ Fancy your being here to-night! I 

never suspected you of being a member of this 
place! ” 

I’m not. A friend of mine has introduced me,” 
he said, and then, when the elegantly-dressed woman 
in the daring black-and-orange gown had introduced 
her companions, Gray sat down at the table and took 
a cigarette. 

Presently she excused herself from her two friends, 
saying: 


A Matter of Urgency 219 

You’ll forgive me if I have just this one dance 
with Mr. Gray—won’t you ? ” 

And both joined the fox-trot which was at that 
moment commencing. 

“ Well, I see by your face, Gordon, that something 
has happened. What ? ” she whispered as they took 
the floor. 

“ Something good. Old Homfray is dead! ” 

“ Dead! ” gasped the woman. But you didn’t 
do it—eh ? ” 

‘‘No. I might have done. You know what 
I intended to do if he cut up rough—but luck 
came to my aid. The old hypocrite died sud¬ 
denly from heart disease, I think. At any rate, 
he got into a passion and sank into his chair and 
expired. And then I quietly retired and drove 
back here to town. Nobody saw me. Luck— 
eh?” 

“ By Jove! Yes. That relieves us of a great 
deal of worry, doesn’t it?” said the woman. “It’s 
the best bit of news I’ve heard for years. While 
the old man lived there was always a risk—always 
a constant danger that he might throw discretion 
to the winds and give us away.” 

“You’re quite right, Freda. He was the only 
person in the world I feared.” 

“ And yet you defied him! ” she remarked. 

“ That is the only way. Never let your enemy 
suspect that you are frightened of him,” said the 
stout, beady-eyed man in the navy-blue suit. 

“ What about the young pup ? ” asked the 
woman in a low voice as they danced together 


220 The Voice from the Void 


over the excellent floor, while yellow-haired, 
under-dressed women who bore on their counte¬ 
nances the mark of cocaine-taking, and prosperous, 
vicious-looking men, both young and old, sat at 
the little tables, laughing, drinking and looking 
on. 

He knows nothing, and he’s going to be useful 
to us.” 

“ But he’s very deeply in love with Elma.” 

“Of course. But to part them will be quite easy. 
Leave all that to me.” 

There was a pause. 

“ And you will desert me for that slip of a girl— 
eh, Gordon ? ” asked the handsome woman suddenlv 
in a strange, unusual voice. 

He started. He had never realized that the 
woman’s jealousy had been aroused, but, never¬ 
theless, he knew that a jealous woman always 
constitutes a danger when one sails near the 
wind. 

“Oh! my dear Freda, please don’t talk like 
that, he laughed. Surely ours is a business 
connexion. Your interests are mine, and vice 
versa. Have they not been so for five years? You 
have kept your eyes open for the pigeons, while 
I have plucked them for you and given you half 
share of the spoil.” 

“And now you contemplate deserting me—and 
perhaps marrying the daughter of a wealthy man. 
Where do I come in ? ” 

“ As you always have done, my dear Freda. Both 
of us are out for money—and big money we must 


A Matter of Urgency 221 

get from somewhere. That concession in Morocco 
is my main object at the present moment. We 
already have the plan, and Barclay has not yet dis¬ 
covered his loss.” 

He may do so at any moment. What 

then ? ” 

“ Why, nothing. He will have no suspicion as 
to who has secured it or how it was taken from 
his safe. Besides, the old Moor is arriving at the 
Ritz and is bringing the actual signed concession 
over from Fez. And now that the parson is dead 
all will be plain sailing. Have you heard from Arthur 
to-day ? ” 

“ Not a word. He should be back from Bayeux 
in a couple of days.” 

I shall want him to help me when young 
Homfray gets the concession in his posses¬ 
sion.” 

The woman looked him straight in the face, and 
then, after another pause, asked in a whisper: 

What! Do you intend that an—an accident shall 
happen to him—eh ? ” 

‘‘ Perhaps,” replied the man with a grim smile. 

Who knows ? ” 

‘‘ Ah! I see ! ” she exclaimed quickly. “ There 
cannot be two candidates for the hand of Elma 
Sandys!” 

And he nodded in the affirmative, a few 
moments later leading her back to the two young 
men who had been entertaining her, and then he 
left the place. 

The ill-suppressed jealousy which his accom- 


222 The Voice from the Void 

plice had expressed considerably perturbed him. 
He saw that if he intended to attain success with 
Elma he would first propitiate Freda. A single 
word from her as an enemy would ruin all his 
chances. 

He was not blind to the fact either that Elma 
had no great liking for him, and that, on the other 
hand, the girl was deeply in love with the late 
rector’s son. Though he had declared to Freda 
that all was plain sailing, he viewed the situation 
with considerable misgiving. As Rex Rutherford 
he had made a very favourable impression upon 
Mr. Sandys, but women being gifted with an 
often uncanny intuition, Elma had from the first 
viewed him with suspicion. His studied atten¬ 
tions had annoyed her. And now that Freda had 
shown jealousy, a further difficulty, and even 
danger, had arisen. 

Since their hurried departure from Willowden 
Freda had taken another furnished house called 
The Elms, not far from Laleham, on the Thames, 
and there old Claribut had again been ' installed 
as butler and general factotum, while Gray, under 
the name of Rutherford, occupied a handsome 
suite of chambers in Dover Street, to which 

his new chauffeur eventually drove him that 
night. 

Next day the village of Little Farncombe was 
plunged into grief at the astounding news that their 
popular rector was dead. Old Mr. Sandys’ valet 
told his master the sad truth when he took up his 
early cup of tea, and within an hour the old finan- 


A Matter of Urgency 223 

cier called at the Rectory and offered his sincere 
condolences to Roddy, while later he sent a tele¬ 
gram to Elma at Harrogate announcing the tragic 
fact. 

Not a soul had apparently seen the dead man’s 
visitor either arrive or depart. Mrs. Bentley had, 
as was her habit, gone to bed without wishing her 
master Good-night.” Nobody, therefore, dis¬ 
covered that the poor old gentleman had been 
taken ill in consequence of violent anger expressed 
to a visitor, for the latter had been clever enough 
to slip away without being seen. 

Before noon Roddy received a long telegram 
from Elma, among many others, and three days 
later the body of the Reverend Norton Homfray 
was laid to rest in the quiet old churchyard which 
almost joined the Rectory garden. From far and 
near came crowds of mourners, and many were 
the beautiful wreaths placed upon the coffin by 
loving hands, though none was more beautiful 
than that which Elma herself brought from the 
Towers. 

That evening, when the funeral was over, and 
all the mourners had gone, Roddy stood in the wire¬ 
less room with his loved one clasped in his strong 
arms. 

He was pale, serious, and grief-stricken. She 
saw it, and kissed him upon the lips in mute 
sympathy. 

He held his breath as his eyes wandered over 
the long row of experimental instruments which 
had been his chief hobby and delight. But with 


224 The Voice from the Void 

his father’s death all the interest in them had been 
swept away. 

This he declared to Elma in a tone of deep and 
poignant sorrow. 

‘'No, Roddy dear,” she exclaimed, her hand 
tenderly placed on his shoulder. “ You must strive 
to bear your loss, great as it is. I know how 
you loved your dear father, but the parting must 
always come for all of us. The blow is great—to 
us all, to the village—and to you more especially, 
but you must not allow it to interfere with your 
future interests.” 

She saw in his eyes the light of unshed tears, and 
taking his strong hand, softly added: 

“Face the world anew, dear—face it with greater 
spirit and energy than you have done before, so that 

you may become a son worthy of a splendid and 
revered father.” 

I know! he said. It is very good of you 
to speak like that, Elma, but my grief seems to 
have altered the face of the world for me.' The 
Moroccan Government has suddenly changed, it 
appears, and the Kaid Ahmed-el-Hafid is now no 
longer in power. The Minister of the Interior has 
been replaced by Mohammed ben Mussa, who was 
grand chamberlain to the Sultan, and who is now 
at. the Ritz Hotel. My friend Barclay has arranged 
with him that I shall receive the concession for the 
ancient emerald mines, and I have to be introduced 

to him to-morrow. He promises me every facilitv 
and protection.” ^ 

“Then you will go, dearest,” she said, standing 


A Matter of Urgency 225 

with her little black pom ” in her arms. “It will 
mean a great fortune for you. Father was only 
remarking about it the other day.’’ 

Roddy paused and looked fondly at her sweet 
face. 

“ Yes. If you really wish it, darling, I’ll 
go.” 

“ That’s right,” she exclaimed brightly. “ Come 
up to the Towers with me in the car. Father asked 
me to bring you. You can’t stay here alone this 
evening.” 

He demurred, and tried to excuse himself, but the 
girl was insistent. 

“ There’s the news broadcast! ” she exclaimed 
next second, glancing at the big, round-faced 
ship’s clock. “ Let’s listen for a moment before 
we go—eh ? The broadcast always fascinates 
me. 

In obedience to her desire Roddy switched on 
the aerial, lit the valves, and giving her one pair 
of head-’phones, took another. Then adjusting a 
tuning-coil and turning the knobs of the two con¬ 
densers one after the other, a deep, sonorous voice 
was heard announcing the results of certain races 
held that afternoon, followed by a number of items 
of general news, which included a railway accident 
in France and the facts, that the King had left 
Buckingham Palace for Windsor, and that yet 
another conference of the Allies was contemplated. 

The news was followed by the announce¬ 
ment : 

“ Mr. George Pelham will now tell you all one 


226 The Voice from the Void 

of the famous bedtime stories for the children. 
Hulloa! C.Q. Hulloa! C.Q.? Listen! A bed- 
time story.” 

Elma removed the telephones from her ears, and 
said: 

I think we may go now.” And then together 
they went forth to the car awaiting them. 

Mr. Sandys had asked Roddy to fit for him a 
wireless transmitting set so that he could speak to 
his office by wireless telephone. This he had done, 
though not without considerable difficulties with the 
authorities. 

It was eleven o’clock before the young man 
returned to the silent, empty house, and on enter- 
ing his dead father s study he saw that upon the 

blotting-pad old Mrs. Bentley had placed several 
letters. 

He took them up thoughtfully. 

“Poor old dad!” he exclaimed aloud. “These 

have been written by people who still believe him 
to be alive! ” 

He turned them over in his hand, and then 
began to open them. The first was a polite in¬ 
timation from a moneylender, who expressed him¬ 
self anxious to lend the reverend gentleman a loan 
of anything from two pounds to two thousand 
pounds at practically a nominal interest. The 
next was from a second-hand bookseller with whom 
his father frequently dealt, the third a bill, and 
the fourth was^ thin and bore a foreign stamp, 

the address being written in a small, angular 
hand. 


A Matter of Urgency 227 

He opened it with some curiosity, and read as 

follows: 

Dear Mr. Homfray, —Though we have not 
met for nearly two years, you will probably recol¬ 
lect me. I have of late been very ill, and in a most 
mysterious manner. I am, however, fast recover- 
and am at last able to write to you—having 
recollected only yesterday your name and address. 

I have been suffering from blindness and a 

peculiar loss of memory; indeed, so much that I 
could not, until yesterday, tell people my own 

name. Here I am known as Betty Grayson, and I 
am living with some good, honest Normandy folk 
called Nicole. 

I need not recall the tragedy which befell my 
fiance, Mr. Willard, but it is in that connexion 
that I wish to see you—and with all urgency, for 
your interests in the affair coincide with my own. 

I feel that I dare not tell you more in this letter 
than to say that I feel grave danger threatening, 
and I make an appeal to you to come here and 
see me, so that we may act together in clearing up 
the mystery and bringing those guilty to the justice 
they deserve. 

The situation has assumed the greatest 
urgency for action, so will you, on receipt of this 
letter, telegraph to me: chez Madame Nicole, 
104, Rue des Qianoines, Bayeux, France, and tell 
me that you will come at once to see me. I would 
come to you, but as an invalid I am in the charge 
of those who are doing their best to ensure my 


228 The Voice from the Void 

rapid recovery. You are a clergyman, and I reply 
upon your kind and generous aid.—Yours very 
sincerely, 

“ Edna Manners.’^ 

** Edna Manners 1 ** gasped Roddy when he saw 
the signature. Can she possibly be the girl whom 
I saw dead in Welling Wood?^* 


CHAPTER XX 


CONCERNS THE CONCESSION 

Next morning Roddy was compelled to leave Hasle- 
mere by the early train, and having met Barclay 
at Waterloo station, they drove in a taxi to the 
Ritz, where in a luxurious suite of apartments they 
found the white-bearded intellectual old Moor, Mo¬ 
hammed ben Mussa. His dark, deep-set eyes 
sparkled when in French Mr. Barclay introduced the 
young man as “ one of the most active and enthu¬ 
siastic mining engineers in London,” and from be¬ 
neath his white robe he put forth his hand ^d 
grasped Roddy’s. 

‘‘ I am very pleased. Monsieur Homfray, to think 
that you contemplate prospecting in the Wad Sus. 
Our mutual friend Mr. Barclay is well known to 
us in Fez, and at his instigation I am granting 
you the necessary concession on the same conditions 
as my predecessor proposed to you, namely, that 
one-eighth of the profits be paid to me privately.” 

** To those terms. Your Excellency, we entirely 
agree,” Roddy said. 

‘‘ Good. Then I have the agreement ready for 
your signature.” 

Upon the writing-table stood a small steel dispatch- 
case, from which His Excellency brought out a docu¬ 
ment which had been drawn up by a French notary 

229 


230 The Voice from the Void 

in Tangiers, and, having read it, both Barclay and 
Homfray appended their signatures. Replacing it 
in the box, he then drew out a formidable-looking 
document written in Arabic with a translation in 
French. 

Both Roddy and his friend sat down and together 
digested the contents of the document by which 
“ Son Majeste Cherifiane,'’ through “ his trusted 
Minister Mohammed ben Mussa,” granted to Rod¬ 
erick Charles Homfray, of Little Famcombe, in 
Surrey, the sole right to prospect for and to work 
the emerald mines in the Wad Sus region of the 
Sahara on payment of one-eighth of the money 
obtained from the sale of the gems to the Sultan’s 
private account at the Credit Lyonnais in Paris. 

It was a long and wordy screed, couched in the 
quaint and flowery language of the Moors, but the 
above was the gist of it. The Sultan and his Min¬ 
ister were sharing between themselves a quarter of 
the spoils, while Morocco itself obtained no benefit 
whatever. 

The two Englishmen having expressed their 
acceptance. His Excellency, the slow-moving Moorish 
Minister, bestirred himself again, and taking a large 
piece of scarlet sealing-wax, produced a huge silver 
seal—his seal of office as Minister—and with con¬ 
siderable care and with a great show of formality, 
he heated the wax until he had a round mass about 
three inches in’ diameter, into which he pressed the 
all-important seal. Then, ascertaining that the im¬ 
pression ,was a good one, he took out a reed pen 
and signed it with long, sprawly Arabic characters^ 


Concerns the Concession 231 

afterwards signing his name in French as Minister 
of His Majesty the Sultan. 

And now, my young friend,” said the patri¬ 
archal-looking man in French, as he handed the 
document to Roddy hardly dry, I want to give 
you some little advice. You will go to Mogador, 
and there you will meet Ben Chaib Benuis, who 
will bear a letter from me. He will conduct you 
safely through very unsafe country which is held 
by our veiled Touaregs, the brigands of the Great 
Desert. While you are with him you will have 
safe conduct into the Wad Sus, one of the most 
inaccessible regions south of the Atlas Mountains.” 

“ I am much indebted to Your Excellency,” said 
the young man. “ I have had some little experience 
of mining operations in South America, and up to 
the present I am glad to say that I have been suc¬ 
cessful. I hope I may be equally successful in 
Morocco.” 

You will surely be,” the old man assured him. 
‘‘ Already Ben Chaib Benuis knows where to find 
the entrance to the workings, and the rest will be 
quite easy for you. You have only to raise the 
necessary capital here, in your city of London, and 
then we go ahead. And may Allah’s blessing ever 
rest upon you! ” concluded the mock-pious old man, 
who saw in the concession a big profit to himself 
and to his royal master. 

Roddy folded the precious document into four 
and; placed it in the breast pocket of his dark-blue 
jacket with an expression of thanks and a promise 


232 The Voice from the Void 

to do his htmost to carry out his part of the 
contract 

“We have every hope of floating a very important 
company to carry out the scheme/’ said Andrew 
Barclay enthusiastically, even then in ignorance that 
the plan given him by the Minister’s predecessor in 
Marseilles was no longer in his possession. “ I saw 
the beautiful dark emerald which has been only re¬ 
cently taken from one of the mines. It is a glorious 
stone, finer, they say, than any that have ever come 
from the Urals into the treasury of the Romanoffs.” 

“ Emeralds and rubies are the most precious stones 
of to-day,” Roddy declared. “ Diamonds do not 
count. They are unfashionable in these post-war 
days of the ruined aristocracy and the blatant 
profiteer. A big emerald worn as a pendant upon 
a platinum chain is of far greater notoriety than a 
diamond tiara. Nobody wears the latter.” 

It was eleven o clock, and His Excellency rang 
for a cup of black coffee, while Barclay and Roddy 
each took a glass of French vermuth. Then, when 
they sat down to chat over their cigarettes, Roddy 
glanced casually at the morning newspaper, and saw 
the announcement that the Moorish Minister was in 
London upon a matter of international importance 
concerning the port of Mogador.” 

The young fellow smiled. The matter upon which 
old Mohammed was “doing himself well” at the 
Ritz concerned his own pocket—the same matter 
which affects nine-tenths of the foreign political 
adventurers who visit Paris and London. They 
make excuses of international “ conversations,” but 


Concerns the Concession 233 

the greed of gain to themselves at the expense of 
their own country is ever present. 

Later, when he walked with Barclay along Picca¬ 
dilly towards the Circus, the concession safely in his 
pocket, Roddy turned to his friend and said: 

“ Do you know, Andrew, Pm not quite easy in 
my own mind! I fear that somebody might try to 
do me out of this great stroke of good fortune for 
which I am indebted to you.” 

Why ? Who could contest your right to the 
concession ? The future is all plain sailing for you 
—and for Miss Sandys, I hope. I congratulate you, 
my boy. You’ll end by being a pillar of finance! ” 

“ Never, old chap,” laughed Roddy. Then, after 
a few moments’ pause, he added: “ I’m going over 
to France to-morrow. I must go.” 

Why ? ” 

“ I have a little matter to see after that brooks 
no delay. When I’m back I’ll tell you all about 
it. I’ll be away only two or three days at most. 
But in the meantime I shall place the concession 
with old Braydon, my father’s solicitor, in Bedford 
Row. I have to see him this afternoon regarding 
some matters concerning the poor old governor’s 
will.” 

“ Yes. Perhaps it may be just as well, Roddy,” 
said his friend. “ But as soon as you have recovered 
from the blow of your poor father’s death we ought 
to take up the concession and see what business we 
can do to our mutual advantage. There’s a big for¬ 
tune in it. Of that I’m quite convinced.” 


234 The Voice from the Void 

So am I—unless there are sinister influences at 
work, as somehow I fear there may be.” 

But Barclay laughed at his qualms. The pair 
took lunch in a small Italian restaurant in Wardour 
Street, and while Andrew returned to Richmond, 
Roddy went along to see his father’s old friend, Mr. 
Braydon, and asked him to put the sealed concession 
into safe keeping. 

'' I’m just sending along to the Safe Deposit Com¬ 
pany’s vaults in Chancery Lane,” said the grey-haired, 
clean-shaven old man who was so well known in 
the legal world. “ I’ll send the document for you. 
Perhaps you will like a copy? I’ll have a rough 
copy made at once.” And, touching a bell, he gave 
the order to the lady clerk who entered in response. 

When Roddy left Bedford Row he felt that a 
great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

Perhaps he would not have been so completely 
reassured if he had known that Gordon Gray him¬ 
self had been very cleverly keeping watch upon his 
movements all the morning. He had been idling in 
the corridor of the Ritz while Roddy had been 
engaged in the negotiations, and he had been stand- 
ing on the opposite pavement in Bedford Row while 
he had sought Mr. Arnold Braydon. 

When Roddy had walked down towards Holborn 
the silent watcher had turned upon his heel and 
left, with a muttered expression of dissatisfaction, 
for he knew that young Homfray had placed the 
official document in keeping so safe that theft would 
now be impossible. 

“We must change our tactics,” growled the king 


Concerns the Concession 235 

of international crooks to himself. “ That concession 
would be worthless to us even if we had it at this 
moment. No; we must devise other means.” 

And, hailing a passing taxi, he entered and drove 
away. 

Gordon Gray had been foiled by Roddy’s fore¬ 
thought. Yet, after all, the concession had been 
actually granted and stamped by the official seal of 
the Moorish Minister of the Interior. Therefore, the 
dead rector’s son was in possession of the sole right 
to prospect in the Wad Sus, and it only now re¬ 
mained for him to start out on his journey into 
the Sahara and locate the mines, aided by the plan 
which his friend Barclay had been given. 

As far as Roddy was concerned the concession 
was an accomplished fact. But uppermost in his 
mind was that curious letter addressed to his father 
from the girl, Edna Manners. Something impelled 
him to investigate it—and at once. 

Therefore, he dashed back to Little Farncombe, 
and before going home called at the Towers, in¬ 
tending to show the strange letter to Mr. Sandys 
before leaving for Bayeux. James, the footman, who 
opened the door to him, replied that both his master 
and Miss Elma had left at twelve o’clock, Mr. 
Sandys having some urgent business in Liverpool. 
They had gone north in the car. 

Disappointed, Roddy went home and packed a 
suit-case, and that evening left for Southampton, 
whence he crossed to Havre, as being the most direct 
route into Normandy. 

At midday he alighted from the train at Bayeux, 


236 The Voice from the Void 

and drove in a ramshackle fiacre over the uneven 
cobbles of the quaint old town, until at the back of 
the magnificent cathedral he found the address given 
in the letter. 

Ascending to the first floor, he knocked at the 
door, and Madame Nicole appeared. 

“ I am in search of Mademoiselle Grayson,’’ he 
said inquiringly in French. 

‘‘ Mademoiselle lives here,” answered the woman, 
‘'but, unfortunately, she is not at home. She went 
out last evening to post a letter, and, strangely 
enough, she has not returned! We are much dis¬ 
tressed. Only an hour ago my husband informed 
the commissary of police, and he is making inquiries. 
Mademoiselle has recovered her sight and, to a great 
extent, her proper senses. It is a mystery! She 
promised to return in a quarter of an hour, but she 
has not been seen since! ” 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE BLOW 

Purcell Sandys was seated at his writing-table in 
his fine spacious library in Park Lane engrossed in 
the intricacies of some formidable-looking accounts. 

Hughes, the grave-faced old butler, opened the door 
softly, and asked: 

‘‘ Shall you be wanting anything more to-night, 
sir?” 

His master raised his head wearily, and Hughes 
at once noticed how very pale and changed he 
seemed. 

“No, nothing, Hughes,” he replied in an unusual 
voice. “ But leave word that when Miss Elma comes 
in I wish to see her here at once. She’s at Lady 
Whitchurch’s dance, but she ought to be back very 
soon.” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered the old servant. “ But—• 
excuse me, sir, you don’t look very well. Can’t I get 
you something ? A little brandy—perhaps ? ” 

“ Well, yes, Hughes. Just a' liqueur glass full,” 
was his master’s reply; and then he turned again 
to his accounts. 

Hughes, a moment later, placed the thin little 
Venetian liqueur-glass upon a silver salver at his 
elbow, and retired noiselessly. 

Mr. Sandys had not heard him. He was far too 

237 


238 The Voice from the Void 

engrossed in his work of examination of the accounts 
and three bankers’ pass-books. 

Now and then he drew long breaths and snapped 
his fingers in fierce impatience. 

^‘To think of this! Only to think of it!” 
escaped his pale, thin lips. 

Then he rose, and with his hand on the edge of 
the table he slowly surveyed his room. 

‘‘ And I trusted Hornton! He was so sound that 
I would have entrusted to him Elma’s life and 
future. And she is all I have in the world. And 
he’s let me down! ” 

He reseated himself at the table, and, taking up 
a telegram, re-read it, as he had done a dozen times 
before. 

It was dated from Stowmarket, and said: 

Much regret to tell you that poor Charles has 
been found dead. Very distressed.— Lady Horn- 
ton.” 

His partner was dead! Upon his table lay a 
letter he had received by the last post that evening. 
A letter of apology it was. On the previous night 
at eight o’clock the two partners had met alone in 
Lombard Street, and Sir Charles had confessed that 
he had been gambling heavily in Paris, at Deauville, 
at Aix, at Madeira, at the Jockey Club, at Buenos 
Aires, as well as at a private gambling-hell called 
Evans’ in West Kensington, and that the result had 
been that he had lost everything. He could not 
face the music. 

So he had made his bow to the world and ended 
his life. Purcell Sandys was left to bear the brunt 


The Blow 239 

of the whole of the gigantic liabilities of them 
both! 

The great financier left the little glass of brandy 
untouched. He was never addicted to spirits. A 
man of strong and outstanding personality, he had 
studied, as so many of our greatest Englishmen 
have done, the practically unknown philosophy of 
Yogi—that science of “I am’’ of the “Great Ego,” 
which by our modern world is so little understood. 

Purcell Sandys, at that moment when he knew 
that ruin had befallen him, stood erect, and presently 
a curious smile crossed his lips. He had studied the 
old Indian science of “ Raja Yogi ” thoroughly and 
well. He knew the nature of Real Self, as every 
strong man does. He knew the power of the Will, 
which power underlies the entire teachings of Raja 
Yogi, and he was master of his Real Self. The 
great strong men through all the ages have studied 
the Yogi science perhaps unconsciously. Even as 
Purcell Sandys stood there, a ruined man in that 
millionaire’s palace in Park Lane, he spoke aloud 
and repeated the mantrams or affirmations of the 
candidates presenting themselves to the Yogi masters 
for their first lesson. 

“ I am a Centre,” he said in a low, distinct voice. 

“ Around me revolves the world. ‘ I ’ am a Centre 
of Influence and Power. ‘ I ’ am a Centre of 
Thought and Consciousness. ' I ’ am independent 
of the Body. * I ’ am Immortal and cannot be 
destroyed. ‘ I ’ am Invincible and cannot be injured. 
Mastery is with me.” 

Then he returned to his chair and fell to study- 


240 The Voice from the Void 

ing and adding up his liabilities. They were colos¬ 
sal. He had known that Hornton was very fond 
of games of chance and often played for high stakes 
at a certain gaming-club in Paris, but he had never 
dreamed he was gambling away the firm’s securi¬ 
ties. The blow had staggered him, for it had 
brought him in a day from luxury to ruin. The 
financial operations they had in progress throughout 
the world were now simply bubbles. There was 
nothing behind them. The Paris house had been 
depleted, and yet so high was the standing of the 
firm that nobody had expected such a crisis. 

The failure would inevitably bring down with it 
other smaller houses, and hundreds of small in¬ 
vestors, war widows, clergymen, artisans, and people 
who earned weekly wages, both in England and in 
France, would lose their all. 

He bit his lip to the blood. An hour before 
he had spoken on the telephone to Lady Horn- 
ton, but the line was very bad to Stowmarket, and 
he could scarcely hear her. But he understood 
her to say that her husband, who had been out 
motoring in the morning, had lunched and then, as 
usual, gone to his room to have a nap. But when 
his man went to call him at half-past five he found 
him dead. 

Such news was, indeed, calculated to upset any 
man. But Purcell Sandys, on account of his Yogi 
knowledge, knew of his own subconscious mentality. 
He relaxed every muscle, he took the tension from 
every nerve, threw aside all mental strain, and 
waited for a few moments. Then he placed his 


The Blow 


241 

position firmly and fixedly before his mental vision 
by means of concentration. Afterwards he mur¬ 
mured to his subconscious mentality—which all of 
us possess if we know how to use it aright; 

“ I wish my position to be thoroughly analysed, 
arranged, classified, and directed, and the result 
handed back to me. Attend to this! ” 

Thus the ruined financier spoke to his subconscious 
mentality just as though it were a separate entity 
which had been employed to do the work. 

Confident expectation was, he knew, an important 
part of the process, and that the degree of success 
depended upon the degree of his confident expecta¬ 
tion. He was not a slave to the subconscious, but 
its master. 

Returning again to his table, he sat for a long 
time pondering until suddenly the door opened and 
Elma burst in, bright and radiant in a filmy dance 
frock of emerald with shoes and stockings to match. 
In her hair she wore a large golden butterfly, and 
in her hand she carried her long gloves. 

‘‘ Do you want to see me, dad ? ” she asked. “ I 
know Em rather late, but I’ve had such a topping 
time. Only one thing spoiled it. That Mr. Ruther¬ 
ford was there and pestered me to dance with him.” 

Her father was silent for a few seconds. Mention 
of the name of Rutherford caused him to reflect. 

“ Yes, dear, I want to see you. Sit down for a 
moment. I have something to tell you.” 

You look very anxious, dad,” exclaimed the girl. 

Why, what’s the matter ? ” 

A very serious one, my dear—most serious. A 


242 The Voice from the Void 

heavy blow has fallen upon me. Sir Charles has 
killed himself! ” 

“ What ? ” gasped the girl, rising from her chair. 

“ Yes, and, moreover, before doing so he ruined 
us both by gambling. Elma, I cannot conceal the 
bitter truth from you, dear. I am ruined! 

The girl was too astounded to utter a word. Her 
countenance had blanched. 

“ But, dad! ” she cried at last. “ You can’t mean 
that you are actually ruined—you, the rich man 
that you are.” 

“ I thought I was until last night,” he replied 
huskily. I have enemies, as well as friends. What 
man has not? The truth cannot be concealed from 
them very long, and then they will exult over my 
ruin,” he remarked very gravely. 

“ But, dad, what are we to do ? Surely Sir Charles 
hastn’t actually ruined you ? ” 

“ Unfortunately he has, my child. I trusted him, 
but the curse of gambling was in his blood and he 
flung away my money as well as his own. But he is 
dead—he has paid the penalty of his folly, and left 
me to face our creditors.” 

“ And the future, dad ? ” asked the young girl, 
gazing aimlessly about her and not yet realizing what 
ruin meant. 

Purcell Sandys, the man whose credit was at that 
moment so high in Lombard Street—for the truth 
was not yet out—sighed and shook his head. 

“ I must face the music, my dear,” he said. '' Face 
defeat, as others have done. Napoleon was com¬ 
pelled to bow to the inevitable; I must do so. Fam- 



The Blow 


243 

combe must be sold, and this house also. I must 
realize as much as possible to pay my creditors. But 
I cannot pay them all even though I sell every¬ 
thing.’^ 

“ And then ? ” asked his pretty daughter, so slim 
and girlish. “And then, dad?” 

“Then we must both go into obscurity. Perhaps 
we can live over in Brittany, in some out-of-the- 
way place, and learn to forget. But I said ‘we.’ 
No, dear, you could never forget. You are young 
and have your life before you—you must marry, 
child, and be a happy wife. I could never take you 
over to France to one of those deadly-dull little 
towns where life is only existence, and thoughts of 
the past become an obsession. No.” 

“ But I want to help you, dad,” she said, cross¬ 
ing to him and stroking his grey brow with her 
hand. 

“ I know, darling. I know,” he muttered. “ You 
may be able to—one day. But—but to-night don’t 
let us discuss this painful subject further. I feel 
—well, I can’t bear it. Good-night! ” And raising 
his bearded face, he kissed her, patting her upon 
the shoulder as he did so. 

Reluctantly she withdrew, for he was insistent that 
she should retire. 

Then, when she had gone, he drew several long, 
deep breaths—part of his Yogi training—and lock¬ 
ing up the sheaf of accounts and the pass-books, he 
switched off the light and ascended the wide, hand¬ 
some stairs to his room. 

By the irony of fate the man who had built that 


244 The Voice from the Void 

magnificent town mansion in Park Lane, and had 
sold it to Purcell Sandys, had afterwards stood in 
the dock at the Old Bailey and had been sentenced 
to ten years’ imprisonment for a gigantic fraud. 

The position of Purcell Sandys was certainly a 
very serious one. Honest, upright, and straight- 
spoken, he had, from small beginnings, attained 
greatness in the financial world, until the name of 
the firm was one to conjure with in the money mar¬ 
kets of Europe. But he was ever a man of honour. 
During the war he saw the way open to make a 
profit of five millions sterling by dealing with Ger¬ 
many through a certain source in South America. 

The proposition was put to him on the day of 
the air-raid on Brixton. He heard the sleek agent 
of the enemy, and smoked a good cigar as he 
listened. Then he rose from his chair, and said: 

Look here! I’m an Englishman! Get out! 
There’s the door. And if you don’t get out of Eng¬ 
land in twelve hours you’ll find yourself arrested. 
Get out! ” 

And even while the caller was in the room he 
crossed to the telephone and rang up M.O.5 ” at 
the War Office. 

Purcell Sandys was a real, honest, firm-handed 
Englishman. He had, by his own pluck, self- 
confidence and shrewd intuition, raised himself 
from his small office as a provincial bank manager 
to the position he had attained in the financial 
world. Mrs. Sandys, who had been a great invalid 
for years, had died at St. Moritz two years before. 


The Blow 245 

and he had only Elma left to him. And naturally 
he doted upon her—his only child. 

That night he felt himself up against a brick 
wall—he, whose very name was a power upon every 
bourse in Europe. 

Alone in her room Elma, dismissing her maid 
Evans, sank at her bedside and prayed. She loved 
her father, and had never before seen him with 
hopelessness written plainly upon his features. 

She thought of Roddy. W^ould that he were at 
her side to advise and help her! 

But she was alone—alone except for her little pet, 
the black pom, Tweedles. 


CHAPTER XXII 


BY STROKE OF THE PEN 

Next day the news of the sudden death of Sir 
Charles Hornton at his country house in Suffolk 
caused a great sensation in the City. But as the 
truth was never guessed, the greatest sympathy was 
felt on every hand for his close friend and partner 
Purcell Sandys. The fact that Sir Charles had 
committed suicide had not leaked out. He had been 
found dead under very mysterious circumstances. 
That was all. 

Almost the first person to call at Park Lane 
and express his sorrow was the well-dressed, soft- 
speaking and refined Mr. Rex Rutherford. It was 
about eleven o’clock. Elma heard a ring at the 
door, and afterwards asked Hughes who was the 
caller. 

“ Mr. Rutherford, miss,” was the old man’s 
reply. 

The girl said nothing, but she wondered why 
he should call upon her father so early in the 
morning. 

Two days later the white-bearded old Moorish 
Minister Mohammed ben Mussa was seated with 
his secretary, a young Frenchman, in his hotel 
in the Rue de Rivoli, in Paris, when a waiter entered, 
saying: 


246 


By Stroke of the Pen 247 

“ Madame Crisp has called, Your Excel- 
lency/' 

In an instant the old man’s face became 
illuminated, and he gave orders to show the 
lady in. 

“ It is the lady I met on the boat between Dover 
and Calais. Her necklet had been stolen, and she 
was naturally in tears. We travelled together 
from Calais to Paris,” he explained. “ She is a very 
intelligent English society woman, and I asked her to 
call.” 

The French secretary, who had been engaged at 
the 'Ministry in Fez for some years, bowed as his new 
master spoke. 

In a few moments Freda Crisp, elegantly-dressed, 
swept into the luxurious room. 

“ Ah! So here you are! ” she cried in French, which 
she spoke extremely well. “ I promised I would call. 
Do you know, the French police are so much cleverer 
than the English! They have already arrested the 
thief and returned my necklet to me! ” 

His Excellency, after inviting his guest to be seated, 
expressed pleasure at the news, and then the secretary 
rose discreetly and left. 

“ I hope you are enjoying Paris,” Freda said in her 
low musical voice, which always charmed her dupes. 
‘‘ Now that the autumn is coming on everyone is return¬ 
ing from Deauville. I am giving a little party to¬ 
night at the Ritz. I wonder if you would honour me 
with your presence? I have a friend, an Englishman, 
who wishes very particularly to make Your Excellency’s 
acquaintance.” 


248 The Voice from the Void 

The old Minister expressed himself as being de¬ 
lighted, whereupon she suggested that he should 
dine with her and her English friend at the hotel. 
The old Moor with his Eastern admiration of feminine 
beauty found her charming, and at eight o’clock that 
night when he entered the hotel, his striking figure 
in the ample white burnous (upon which was the 
glittering star of the Order of the Tower and the 
Sword), and turban, caused all heads to be turned in 
his direction. 

“This is my friend, Mr. Arthur Porter,” Freda 
said. ’ “ Will Your Excellency allow me to present 
him ? ” 

The old Moor took Porter’s hand and, with an ex¬ 
pression of pleasure, the trio sat down to dinner at a 
corner table in the great restaurant. 

The Moorish Minister spent a most enjoyable 
evening, for though he touched no wine, he was after 
dinner introduced to several very elegant and charm¬ 
ing women, both English and French, for in a cer¬ 
tain circle in Paris Freda was well known. Porter 
took good care to ingratiate himself with the patriarchal- 
looking old fellow, declaring that he knew Morocco, 
was delighted with the life there, and intended in a few 
weeks’ time to visit Fez again. The truth, however, 
was that he had never been there in his life and had 
no intention of ever going. Freda had followed 
the old Minister from London and had managed 
to become acquainted with him with the sole object 
of introducing Arthur Porter, alias Bertram Harrison. 
To them both the death of Sir Charles was known, 
and Porter guessed that Mr. Sandys’ financial position 


By Stroke of the Pen 249 

would be greatly affected. He had seen Sir Charles at 
several gaming-tables, and knew that he had been a 
reckless gambler. So cleverly did the pair play their 
cards that Mohammed ben Mussa invited Porter to 
call and see him next day—which he did. 

As the two men sat together smoking cigarettes. 
Porter suddenly said in French: 

I heard the other day that the ancient emerald 

mines in the Wad Sus are about to be worked 
again.” 

That is so. I granted the concession in London 
only a few days ago.” 

‘‘Ah! ^How very unfortunate!” remarked his 
visitor. “I have a big financial backing, and could 
have exploited those mines with huge profits to all of 
us. Of course, I do not know how much gratification 
Your Excellency has received for the concession, but 
my friends would, I believe, have paid Your Excel¬ 
lency fifty thousand francs down and one-quarter of 
the profits of the undertaking.” 

The old Moor pursed his lips and pricked up his 
ears. From Barclay he had received nothing on ac¬ 
count, and only one-eighth share. Porter could see 
that the old fellow was filled with regret and chagrin 

that he had granted the concession with such little 
gain to himself. 

“ His Majesty the Sultan demands a share in the 
profits,” old Mohammed remarked. He has been 
allotted an eighth share—similar to myself.” 

I could have arranged a quarter share for you and 
an eighth for His Majesty,” said the crafty English¬ 
man quickly. ‘‘ But I suppose it is unfortunately too 


250 The Voice from the Void 

late, now that you have given the concession into 
another quarter.” 

Mohammed ben Mussa remained silent, slowly 
stroking his long beard with his brown claw-like 
hand. 

The Englishman’s offer was extremely tempting. He 
was reflecting. 

At last he said very slowly: 

Perhaps if seventy-five thousand francs were of¬ 
fered me and the shares you suggest, I might find 
some way out,” and he smiled craftily. 

“ Well,” said Porter with affected hesitation, “ I’m 
inclined to think that my friends would pay that sum— 
and at once if they received an unassailable con¬ 
cession. I mean a concession given to Mr. Rex 
Rutherford under your hand and seal as Minister 
which would cancel the previous one.” 

Porter knew well the one power in Oriental countries 
was that of backsheesh, and wrote down the name Rex 
Rutherford. ; 

“ I will consider it,” said the old man. There is 
no hurry till to-morrow. I may find it necessary to 
telegraph to Fez. I—I have to think it over, M’sieur 
Porter.” 

“ Of course. Then I will come here to-morrow— 
shall we say at eleven ? And you will afterwards lunch 
with me at Voisin’s—eh?” 

“ It is agreed,” said the representative of the 
Moorish Sultan, and then, after another cigarette. 
Porter rose and left, walking back to the Place 
Vendome to tell Freda the result of his morning’s 
negotiations. 


By Stroke of the Pen 251 

Next day, at noon when the tall Englishman entered 
Mohammed’s room he saw by the expression on the 
old man’s face that he had triumphed. 

“ I have been reflecting,” His Excellency said when 
his visitor was seated, and I have prepared a copy of 
the concession which I gave in London, with the name 
and terms altered as we discussed yesterday, and with 
the payment of seventy-five thousand francs to me 
direct at latest to-morrow as being the consideration. 
You see, it is all in order—a concession in perpetuity 
granted to your nominee, Mr. Rutherford, and 
sealed by my Ministerial seal, which I hold from 
His Majesty, and signed by myself. Please ex¬ 
amine it.” 

Arthur Porter took the document, which was almost 
a replica of that handed to Barclay in London. The 
date was, however, different, as well as the 
terms. 

“ Yes,” he said, after carefully reading the French 
translation. ‘‘ It all seems in order. It rescinds the 
previous concession granted in London.” 

“ Most certainly. No one will have any authority 
to enter the Wad Sus except yourself and those you 
appoint.” 

With satisfaction Porter drew from his inner pocket 
an envelope containing seventy-five one-thousand-franc 
notes, which he counted out upon the table one by 
one. 

The old Moor’s thin yellow fingers handled them 
gleefully, and placing them together he drew them be¬ 
neath his ample burnous, saying quite coolly: 

“ I trust. Monsieur Porter, that you are satisfied.” 


252 The Voice from the Void 

“ Perfectly,” was the Englishman’s reply. My 
friend will at once form a syndicate and work the 
mines. Of course, we may have trouble with that Mr. 
Barclay in London.” 

“ He paid no consideration. Therefore you need not 
trouble about him. The concession you have is the 
only valid one, for it is dated after the one I gave 
in London. If they attempt to enforce it we shall in¬ 
stantly prevent their entering the district, or arrest 
them if they attempt to do so.” 

And the old man chuckled to himself at the easy 
manner in which he had obtained seventy-five thousand 
francs. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A CALLER AT THE RECTORY 

That morning Gordon Gray, dapper and well- 
dressed as ever, had scanned the papers and read 
the report of the inquiry into the death of Sir 
Charles Hornton. The coroner’s jury had returned 
a verdict of ‘‘ death through misadventure,” it 
having been proved that Sir Charles had mistaken 
a bottle of poison for a prescription for indigestion 
which the local doctor had sent him on the previous 
day. In fact, it was a not too rare way of hush- 
ing-up the suicide of a well-known man. In many 
cases where persons of means commit wilful suicide 
the twelve local tradesmen are lenient, and declare 
it to be pure accident, or “ misadventure ”—unless, 
of course, the suicide leaves a letter, in which case 
the truth cannot be circumvented. For a suicide 
to leave a letter is a criminal act towards his 
family. 

Early in the afternoon the telephone-bell rang 
in the pleasant sitting-room of the cosy West End 
chambers Gray was occupying, and on taking off 
the receiver he heard Freda speaking from 
Paris. 

“ All O. K.,” she said. “ Guinness has got the 
concession and is bringing it over this afternoon. 
He'll be with you to-night.” 

253 


254 The Voice from the Void 

When does the old Moor leave ? ” asked Gray. 

“ The day after to-morrow. He goes straight back 
to Tangier.’^ 

Right. Keep in touch with him till he's safely 
away, then get back here/’ were the great crook’s 
orders. 

Meanwhile events were following close upon each 
other in those crowded autumn days. 

Roddy, checkmated by his failure to find the 
girl Manners who had written to his dead father 
from Bayeux, made, in company with the shoe- 
repairer Nicole, a number of inquiries of the com¬ 
missary of police and in other quarters, but in 
vain. 

From the worthy pair he learnt how they had re¬ 
ceived the young lady at St. Malo from an English¬ 
man and a woman, apparently his wife. From the 
description of the woman he felt convinced that it 
was Freda Crisp. The girl, under the influence of 
the same drug that had been administered to him, 
had been smitten by temporary blindness, in addition 
to her mind being deranged. Here was still more 
evidence of the dastardly machinations of Gray and 
his unscrupulous associates. It was now plain that 
the girl Manners had not died, after all, but had 
lapsed into a kind of cataleptic state, just as he had 
done. 

The problem of her whereabouts, however, was 
an all-important one. With her as witness against 
Gray and the woman Crisp the unmasking of the 
malefactors would be an easy matter. Besides, 
had not Mr. Sandys told him that it was most 


A Caller at the Rectory 255 

important to him that the young' lady’s fate should 
be ascertained? 

What had been her fate? The description of the 
mysterious man who called himself a doctor and who 
had recently visited the poor girl conveyed nothing 
to Roddy. It seemed, however, as though after she 
had written the letter to his father she had suddenly 
disappeared. Had she left Bayeux of her own accord, 
or had she been enticed away? 

The police suspected foul play, and frankly told 
him so. 

It was during those eager, anxious days in Bayeux 
that Roddy, on glancing at Le Nouvelliste, the daily 
paper published in Rennes, saw to his astonishment 
news of the tragic death of Mr. Sandys’ partner, 
and hastened to telegraph his condolences. Hence 
it was with great surprise that Elma and her father 
were aware that the young man was in France, 
for the telegram simply bore the place of origin as 
Bayeux. 

Little did he dream of the clever devil’s work 
which Freda and her associate Porter had accom¬ 
plished with old Mohammed ben Mussa, but re¬ 
mained in Normandy following a slender clue, 
namely, a statement made by a white-capped 
peasant woman hailing from the neighbouring 
village of Le Molay-Littry, who declared that she 
had, on the day of the young English mademoi¬ 
selle s disappearance, seen her on the railway plat¬ 
form at Lison entering a train for Cherbourg. She 
was alone. To Cherbourg Roddy travelled, ac¬ 
companied by a police-officer from Bayeux and 


256 The Voice from the Void 

Monsieur Nicole, but though they made every 
inquiry, no trace of her could be found. At the 
office of the Southampton boats nobody recollected 
her taking a passage on the day in question. There¬ 
fore, saddened and disappointed, he was com¬ 
pelled to relinquish his search and cross back to 
England. 

While on board the boat he paced the deck 
much puzzled how to act. He wondered how Elma 
was faring. Mr. Sandys was, no doubt, too full 
of his partner’s tragic end to attend to any fresh 
business proposal. Therefore he decided not to 
approach him at present with the concession, 
which was in the vaults of the Safe Deposit 
Company. 

On arrival at Victoria he, however, drove to Park 
Lane to call, see Elma, and express to her father his 
regret at the tragedy. The footman who opened the 
door answered that neither his master nor Miss Elma 
was at home. 

“ Are they at Farncombe ? ” asked Roddy, much dis¬ 
appointed. 

“ No, sir. They are in town. But I do not think 
they will be back till very late.” 

Roddy, who was a shrewd observer, could tell 
that the man had received orders to say “ not at 
home.” 

‘‘Not at home” to him? Why? He stood upon 
the wide doorstep filled with wonder and chagrin. 
He wanted to tell Mr. Sandys of the second disap¬ 
pearance of Edna Manners, and most of all to see 
the girl he so fondly loved. 


A Caller at the Rectory 257 

But she was “ not at home.” What could be the 
reason of such an attitude? 

He took the last train home from Waterloo, and on 
arrival at the Rectory—which he still occupied until 
the new incumbent should require it—old Mrs. Bentley 
came down to let him in. 

“Oh, sir,” she exclaimed, “ Rm glad youVe come 
back. There’s been a young lady here this evening 
inquiring for your poor father. I told her I expected 
you home every day, and she’s coming again to-mor¬ 
row evening at five o’clock. After she went I saw her 
wandering about Welling Wood, as though searching 

for something. She told me to say that her name is 
Miss Manners.” 

Roddy stood staggered—too amazed to utter a word 
for the moment. Edna Manners had returned, and to¬ 
morrow he would know the truth. 

Too puzzled and excited to sleep, he threw off his 
coat, and entering his wireless room took up his cigar- 
box receiver with the newly invented and super¬ 
sensitive crystal detector. Placing the ’phones over 
his ears he switched on the little portable aerial 
wire which he used with it and attached an¬ 
other wire to earth, whereupon he heard loud 
and strong telephony—somebody in Rotterdam test- 
ing with a station in London and speaking in 
Dutch. It proved beyond all doubt that the 
new crystal was the most sensitive type known, and 
that, for a portable set, was of far greater utility than 
vacuum valves. The quality of the telephony, indeed, 
astounded him. 

He had been listening in for nearly an hour when 


258 The Voice from the Void 

suddenly he heard the voice of a fellow-experimenter, 
a man named Overton, in Liverpool, with whom he 
often exchanged tests. 

At once he threw over his transmission switch, the 
generator hummed with gathering speed, and taking up 
the telephone, he said: 

‘^Hulloa, 3.B.L.! Hulloa, 3.B.L.! Hulloa, Liver¬ 
pool! This is Homfray 3.X.Q. calling. Your signals 
are very good. Modulation excellent 3.B.L. I am just 
back from France, and will test with you to-morrow 
night at 22.00 G.M.T. Did you get that 3.B.L., Liver¬ 
pool ? 3.X.Q. over.” 

And he threw over the switch, the humming of the 
generator dying down. 

In a few seconds came Overton’s familiar voice, 
saying: 

“ Hulloa 3.X.Q.! This is 3.B.L. answering I Thanks 
very much for your report. I will call you to-morrow 
night at 22.00 G.M.T. Thanks again. Somebody was 
calling you half an hour ago on one thousand 
metres. You did not get him. Better try now. 
G.N.O.M. (Good-night, old man.) 3.B.L. switch¬ 
ing off.” 

Roddy, interested as to who, in the wonderful mod¬ 
ern world of wireless where men and women only 
meet through the ether, could have called him, raised 
his receiving wave length to a thousand metres and 
listened. 

Beyond some “ harmonics ” there was nothing. 

Suddenly, however, an unknown voice, so clear and 
high-pitched that it startled him, said: 

'' Hulloa, 3.X.Q.! Hulloa, Farncombe 1 I have 


A Caller at the Rectory 259 

called you several times to-night; the last time an 
hour ago. I’m speaking for Mr. Barclay. He did 
not know that you were back. He is coming on 
urgent business to Guildford to-morrow. Can you 
'meet him at the station at eleven o’clock in the morn- 
ing ? He has asked me to give you that message. This 
is 3.T.M. at Kingston-on-Thames speaking. 3.T.M. 
over.” 

Roddy was not surprised. He frequently—in con¬ 
travention of the Post Office regulations, be it said— 
received such relayed messages. He could be 
with Barclay at eleven and meet Edna Manners at 
five. 

So putting in his transmission switch, which 
caused the big vacuum globes to light up and 
the generator to hum again, he took up the micro¬ 
phone transmitter, and replied in a sharp clear 
voice: 

“ Hulloa, 3.T.M.! This is 3.X.Q. answering. 
Thank you very much for the message from Barclay 
—I will keep the appointment to-morrow. 3.X.Q. 
switching off.” 

Why did Barclay wish to see him so urgently? 
Perhaps the urgency had not occurred until the 
post-office had closed, hence he had been unable 
to send a telegram. And at the Rectory there 
was no telephone, save that splendidly equipped radio¬ 
phone. 

Little did Roddy Horn fray suspect that Mr. Pur¬ 
cell Sandys was faced with ruin, that Elma knew 
of the impending disaster, and that there was a rea¬ 
son—a very clear and distinct reason—why she and 


26 o The Voice from the Void 


her father were neither of them “ at home ” when he 
had called. 

Black ruin had fallen upon the great financial 
house of Sandys and Hornton, a fact of which, 
though Roddy was in ignorance, Gordon Gray, 
alias Rex Rutherford, and his accomplices were 
well aware, and were about to turn to their own 
advantage. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

RUTHERFORD MAKES A PROPOSITION 

On that evening when Roddy was told that neither 
Mr. Sandys nor Elma was at home both father and 
daughter were, as a matter of fact, seated together in 
the library. Mr. Sandys had by that time been able 
to ascertain pretty nearly the extent of his firm’s lia¬ 
bilities, and was in complete despair. 

Elma was kneeling beside her father with her arm 
lovingly around his neck, nobly trying to comfort 
him. 

She had confessed her affection for Roddy, and 
had spoken of the young man’s high hopes and aspira¬ 
tions, and shown her father a hasty letter she had re¬ 
ceived from him announcing the fact that the con¬ 
cession for emerald mining had actually been granted 
to him by the Moorish Minister, Mohammed ben 
Mussa. 

A new thought arose in Mr. Sandys’ mind. If 
Roddy had really been granted the concession for the 
mines known to exist there—and he had made some 
searching inquiries during the past week or so—then 
by dealing with it he might, after all, be able to raise 
sufficient money to discharge part of the immense lia¬ 
bilities of the firm, and thus stem the tide which must 
otherwise rise in the course of the next few days and 
overwhelm him. 


261 


262 The Voice from the Void 


Elma's father spoke quite openly concerning the 
situation. 

“ In that case Roddy could marry me, dad,” she said. 
‘‘ And further, even if he had no concession, I am 
poor enough now to marry a poor man,” she added. 

‘‘Yes, my child,” was his reply. “If what young 
Homfray says is true then he can be the saviour of 
our firm and of our family. I confess I have taken 
a great liking to the young fellow. I have liked him 
all along.” 

Then Elma flung herself into her father^s arms and 
kissed him again and again, with tears of joy. 
Strangely enough her father’s ruin had brought about 
her own happiness. 

It was at that moment when the footman entered, 
and said: 

“ Mr. Homfray has called, sir, and I told him that 
you were not at home, as you ordered.” 

Elma looked at her father dismayed. 

“ Has he gone ? ” she gasped, her face falling. 

“ Yes, miss. He called about five minutes 
ago. 

And then the man bowed and retired, while the girl, 
turning to her father, remarked: 

“ How very unfortunate, dad! I wanted to tell him 
the good news. But now it must wait until to-morrow. 
Good-night, dad. Cheer up now, won’t you, dearest?. 
This is a black cloud, but it will pass, as all clouds 
pass sooner or later, and the sun shines out again.” 
And kissing him the girl ran off joyously to her own 
room. 

Roddy rose early, as was his wont, and went into 


Rutherford Makes a Proposition 263 

his wireless room, as was his habit each morning to 
listen to the transatlantic messages, and those from 
Moscow, Nantes and the rest. His eye rested upon 
the sensitive little set in the cigar-box, and it occurred 
to him to test it that day as a portable set in the train 
and elsewhere. 

His train arrived at Guildford from Haslemere 
soon after ten o’clock, therefore he left the station, 
and climbing the old disused coach-road known as the 
Mount, reached the long range of hills called the Hog’s 
Back. There, upon the wide grass-grown road which 
has not been used for nearly a century, he threw up 
his aerial wire into a high elm and placing in position 
his ground wire soldered to a long steel skewer 
he put on the telephones, holding the box in 
his left hand while he turned the condensers with his 
right. 

At once he heard the voice of the radio-telephone 
operator at Croydon, the shrewd, alert expert with the 
rolling r’s, calling Le Bourget. Signals were excellent. 
He listened for ten minutes or so and then, drawing 
down his temporary aerial and withdrawing the skewer 
from the wet earth, put the cigar-box into the pocket 
of his raincoat and descended the hill to the station. 

Upon the platform he awaited the incoming train 
from Waterloo, and was determined to be at home at 
five o’clock to meet Edna Manners. The train arrived 
but without Barclay, so he strolled out into the yard 
to await the next. 

In the meantime, however, another striking incident 
was happening at Park Lane. 


264 The Voice from the Void 

Old Hughes, summoned to the door, opened it to 
the smiling, well-dressed Mr. Rex Rutherford. 

Will you tell Mr. Sandys I’m here. And apolo¬ 
gize for my early call. I have come on rather pressing 
business,” he said briskly. 

“ Very well, sir/’ replied Lord Farncombe’s old but¬ 
ler rather stiffly, taking his hat and umbrella, and ask¬ 
ing him into the library. 

A couple of minutes later the bearded old 
financier entered with outstretched hand, and 
smiling. 

“ I really must apologize, Mr. Sandys,” Rutherford 
said. It’s awfully early, I know, but between busi¬ 
ness men the hour, early or late, doesn’t really count— 
does it? At least, we say so in New York.” 

“ I agree,” said Mr, Sandys with a smile, and then 
when both were seated, Rutherford said: 

“ I’ve come to you, Mr. Sandys, with a very im¬ 
portant proposition—one in which you will at once see 
big money—the concession for some ancient emerald 
mines in Morocco.” 

“ Do you mean the Wad Sus mines ? ” asked Sandys, 
much surprised. 

Yes. I have arranged with my friend. His Ex¬ 
cellency Mohammed ben Mussa, the Moorish Minister 
of the Interior, for a concession in perpetuity over the 
whole region, subject to a payment on results to His 
Majesty the Sultan.” 

“ I really don’t understand you,” exclaimed Elma’s 
father, looking straight in his face. “ A concession has 
already been granted to a young man of my acquaint¬ 
ance, Mr. Homfray.” 


Rutherford Makes a Proposition 265 

“ Not of the same mines—ancient ones, from which 
one big dark-coloured emerald has quite recently been 
taken ? That can’t be! ” 

But it is.” 

Have you seen this concession given to your friend, 
Mr. Homfray? I don’t know who he is, but I fear it 
is not worth the paper it is written upon, because here 
I have a concession which revokes all previous ones, 
and which will make it penal for anyone who attempts 
to trespass as a prospector in any part of the Wad Sus 
region! Here it is! Look for yourself,” he said, tak¬ 
ing the sealed document from his pocket and handing it 
to the astonished financier. “ Of course,” he added, “ if 
the affair is too small for your attention, Mr. Sandys, 
I can easily negotiate it elsewhere. But as we are 
friends, I thought I would let you have its refusal.” 

Purcell Sandys was utterly staggered. He knew 
French well, and at a glance he convinced himself that 
the document was genuine. 

“ And not only have we the concession, but here also 
is a plan of the exact situation of the mines, together 
with a statement from one of the Touareg tribesmen, 
Ben Chaib Benuis, with its French translation. 
The man, a trusted messenger of the Moorish 
Government, has quite recently been upon the spot, 
and has brought back a very large and valuable emerald 
which is in the possession of an ex-Moorish official at 
Tangier, and can be seen any day.” 

Mr. Sandys scanned the French translation and sat 
back in wonder. 

It was quite evident that the concession granted to 
young Homfray—if there had ever been one—was 


266 The Voice from the Void 


worthless, for there was the sealed document dated only 
a few days before which rescinded every other grant 
made by the Moorish Government. 

“ I, of course, know nothing of your friend Mr. 
Homfray,” remarked Rutherford. “ But I fear that 
if he attempts to prospect in the Wad Sus he will 
be at once arrested. I alone hold the only conces¬ 
sion in that district,” and slowly picking up 
both the formidable-looking documents, he care¬ 
fully refolded them and replaced them in his 
pocket. 

Well, Mr. Rutherford,” said the pale, thoughtful 
old financier at last. “ I confess I am very much 
puzzled, and before entering upon this affair as a mat¬ 
ter of business I would first like to look into young 
Homfray’s claims.” 

“ Very naturally,” laughed the easy-going Ruther¬ 
ford. “ I should do so myself in the circumstances. 
I fear, however, that the young man, whoever he is, 
has somewhat misled you. I’ll look in and see you to¬ 
morrow morning—about this time—eh?” he added as 
he rose and left, while Mr. Sandys sat speechless and 
puzzled. 

When Rutherford had gone he called Elma and told 
her of his visit. 

“ What ? That man here again ? ” cried the girl. 

He can’t have any valid concession. Roddy has it. 
He would never write a lie to me! ” 

“ My child, we can do nothing until we see and 
question young Horn fray.” 

“ You are right, dad. I’ll try at once to get hold of 
him. He is probably at Farncombe. I’ll telephone to 


Rutherford Makes a Proposition 267 

the Towers and tell Bowyer to go to the Rectory at 
once/’ 

This she did, but half an hour later the reply came 
back. The maid Bowyer had been to the Rectory, but 
Mr. Homfray was out and would not return till five 
o’clock. She had left a message from Elma asking 
him to go to London at once. 

At five o’clock Mrs. Bentley at the Rectory opened 
the door to Edna Manners, but Roddy had not re¬ 
turned. For an hour she waited, idling most of the 
time in the garden. Then at last she asked leave to 
write him a note, which she did in the dead rector’s 
study, and then reluctantly left. 

The evening passed until at half-past nine a man 
from the Towers called to ask again for Roddy, but 
Mrs. Bentley repeated that her young master had 
gone out that morning and had not yet returned. This 
report was later repeated to Elma over the telephone 
from the Towers to Park Lane. 

Meanwhile Mr. Sandys telegraphed to the Minister 
Mohammed ben Mussa in Tangier, asking for con¬ 
firmation of Mr. Rutherford’s concession, and just be¬ 
fore midnight came a reply that the concession had been 
granted to Mr. Rex Rutherford. 

Elma’s father showed her the reply. All 
Roddy’s assertions were false! All her hopes 
were crushed. She burst into tears and fled to her 
room. 

Mr. Sandys, left alone, faced the situation calmly. 
The only way to stave off ruin would be to deal with 
Rutherford. 


268 The Voice from the Void 


Meanwhile the master criminal was playing a clever 
double game. 

When he called next morning he asked to see Elma, 
pleading that he had something very important to say 
to her. When Hughes brought the message she was at 
first reluctant to accede to his wish, but in a 
few moments she steeled herself and walked to 
the morning-room into which he had been 
shown. 

As usual, he was smartly-groomed and the 
essence of politeness. As he took her hand, he 
said: 

“ Miss Elma, I want to tell you that I sympathize 
very much with your father in his great misfortune, 
the secret of which I happen to know—though as yet 
the world suspects nothing. But I fear it soon will, 
unless your father can come forward with some big 
and lucrative scheme. I have it in my power to help 
him with the mining concession in Morocco. I will do 
so on one condition.” 

And what is that, Mr. Rutherford ? ” she asked 
quite calmly. 

He looked straight into her big, wide-open eyes and, 
after a second’s pause, replied: 

“ That I may be permitted to pay my attentions to 
you—for I confess that I love you.” 

The girl’s cheeks coloured slightly and the expression 
in her eyes altered. 

“ That cannot be,” she said. “ I am already en¬ 
gaged.” 

“To that young Homfray, I believe?” he laughed. 
“ Has he not already misled you and your father into 


Rutherford Makes a Proposition 269 

believing that he is a rich man, inasmuch that he pre¬ 
tends to have been granted some worthless concession 
also in Morocco ? Surely such a man is not suited to 
you as a husband, Miss Elma? Could you ever trust 
him ? 

“ I will not have Mr. Homfray’s character be¬ 
smirched in my presence, Mr. Rutherford,” she said 
haughtily. “ And if this is the matter upon which you 
wished to speak with me I should prefer that you said 
nothing further.” 

‘‘ Elma! I love you!” he cried, with openly sensual 
admiration. 

The girl was horrified and revolted. She told him 
so, but he treated with a conqueror’s contempt her 
frightened attempts to evade him. She was to be 
his toy, his plaything—or he would not lift a finger 
to save her father. 

On her part she pleaded her love for Roddy, but 
he told her brutally that the young fellow was a liar. 
Why had he not produced the concession he alleged 
he had ? 

At last Elma, compelled to listen to his specious 
arguments, almost gave up hope, but before leaving 
the room she declared that she would starve rather 
than marry him. And then she closed the door after 
her. 

Ten minutes later Rutherford was shown into the 
library, and in his most oleaginous manner greeted the 
ruined financier. 

“ I have called to keep my appointment, Mr. 
Sandys,” he said. But since I saw you circum- 


270 The Voice from the Void 

stances have altered somewhat, which makes it incum¬ 
bent upon me to place the concession elsewhere.” 

“ Why ? ” asked Sandys, his face falling. 

“ Well, it is a private matter. I—I really don’t care 
to discuss it, Mr. Sandys. Indeed, I think it is best 
for me to say that our negotiations must conclude 
here, even though I regret it very deeply. It is not 
my fault, but the—well, 'the barrier—lies in another 
direction.” 

“ In what direction ? ” asked the grey-bearded man 
who had been clutching at the straw offered him on 
the previous day. 

“ Well—if you ask Miss Elma, your daughter, she 
will explain.” 

My daughter ? What has she to do with our propo¬ 
sitions ? ” 

“ I simply repeat my reply, Mr. Sandys. I can’t say 
more. To tell the truth, I don’t feel capable. I must 
go now. If you want to see me later you know my 
telephone number.” 

And taking his hat, he stalked out of the fine library, 
well knowing himself to be the conqueror. To those 
who are patient and painstaking the fruits of the world 
will arrive. But there are exceptions, even though the 
devil controls his own. 

When Elma’s father sought her he found her in a 
paroxysm of tears and tried to comfort her. She had 
thrown herself on a couch at the foot of her bed and 
was sobbing out her heart. 

The ruined man told his daughter of Rutherford’s 
visit, and asked her for the explanation which he had 
said that she alone could give. 


Rutherford Makes a Proposition 271 

In a few halting sentences she related what had 
happened. 

For some time the old man remained silent, stand¬ 
ing at the great window past which the motor-’buses 
were passing up and down London’s street of the 
wealthy. 

“ Ah! my dear! ” he sighed. “ I am sorry that you 
have so unfortunately fallen in love with young Horn- 
fray. At first I liked him, I confess. But he seems 
to have sadly misled you, and is now afraid to face 
the truth.” 

“ I agree, father. But I love him. There is some 
explanation, I feel sure.” 

There can be none regarding the emerald con¬ 
cession. Rutherford has it, as well as the plan show¬ 
ing the whereabouts of the mine. I could float a big 
company to-morrow, even upon the concession and the 
official plan furnished by the Moorish Minister of 
the Interior. But he has, alas! now withdrawn 
his offer.” 

Because I have refused him,” said Elma bitterly. 

I love Roddy. How could I possibly become that 
man’s wife ? ” 

Her father drew a long breath and shrugged his 
shoulders. He stood with his back towards her, look¬ 
ing idly out upon the traffic in Park Lane and the 
Park beyond. 

“ Yes, darling,” he said at last. “ But you must 
not sacrifice yourself for me. It would be grossly 
unfair. I am ruined through no fault of my own, I 
trust—ruined by a gambling partner who cared for 


272 The Voice from the Void 

nothing save his obsession with regard to games 
of chance. Let us say no more about it. 
Rutherford may take his concession elsewhere, and 
I will face the music. I have my comfort in my 
Yogi teaching—in those two words ‘ I am.’ I have 
done my best in life, and to my knowledge 
have never injured anyone. I have tried to act up to 
my Yogi teachers, with their magnificent philosophy 

of the East. Therefore I will face disaster unflinch¬ 
ingly.” 

And seeing his daughter in tears, his further words 
were choked by emotion. He merely patted her upon 
the shoulder and, unable to bear the interview longer, 
withdrew. 

For a fortnight past Rex Rutherford, like many 
crooks of his calibre, had actually engaged a 

Press agent ”—one of those parasites who fasten 
themselves upon the ambitious and put forward 
lies and photographs to the Press at so many 
guineas a time. The crook, in the financial Press, 
read of his own wonderful financial operations in 
Paris and in New York, reports which were calculated 
to raise him in the estimation of the great house of 
Sandys and Hornton. The City had read of Rex 
Rutherford day after day, and there were ru¬ 
mours of a great scheme he had for a new 
electric tube rail system for the outer suburbs of Paris, 
for which he was negotiating with the French Govern¬ 
ment. 

Purcell Sandys had read all this—a Press campaign 
which had cost the master criminal a mere three hun¬ 
dred pounds. With that sum he had established a 


Rutherford Makes a Proposition 273 

reputation in the financial papers. Editors of news¬ 
papers cannot always exclude the “ puff paragraphs ” 
when they are cleverly concealed by a master 
of that craft. And it often takes even a 
shrewd sub-editor to detect the gentle art of self- 
advertisement. 

That afternoon the old financier walked alone 
through the Park as far as Kensington Gardens and 
back. He knew that the crash must come at latest in 
a day or two, and Sandys and Hornton must suspend 
payment. 

There was no way out. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE SACRIFICE 

For Elma the world held no future. Though sur¬ 
rounded by every luxury in that magnificent Park 
Lane mansion, the millionaire home that was the most 
notable in all London^s modern houses, her only 
thoughts were of her father and of her lover 
Roddy. 

She hated that fat, beady-eyed but elegantly-dressed 
man whom Mr. Harrison had introduced to her 
father, and who was now so openly making love to 
her. His words and his manner were alike artificial. 
The feminine mind is always astute, and she knew 
that whatever he said was mere empty compliment. 
She saw upon his lips the sign of sensuous¬ 
ness, a sign that no woman fails to note. 
Sensuousness and real love are things apart, and 
every woman can discriminate them. Men are de¬ 
ceivers. Women may, on the other hand, allure, and 
be it said that the vampire woman like Freda Crisp is 
ever with us. 

In the life of London, of Paris, or of New York, 
the vampire woman in society plays a part which is 
seldom suspected. 

They are in a class by themselves, as was Freda 
Crisp. The vampire woman is the popular term for 
a woman who lives by preying upon others; 

274 


The Sacrifice 275 

men usually, but upon her own sex if occasion 
demands. 

Freda Crisp, though few of the characters in 
this human drama of love and cupidity had 
suspected her, was a case in point. She was a 
type that was interesting. As a girl of eighteen 
everyone admired her for her charm of manner, 
her conversational gifts and her bright intellect, 
which was marred only by a rather too lively 
imagination, and a tendency to romance so in¬ 
geniously that no one ever knew if she told the truth 
or not. 

Her career was abnormal, and yet not stranger than 
that of some others in these post-war days. 

At nineteen she had been to prison for swindling. 
Physically she was wonderfully fascinating, but her 
chief characteristic was an absence of all real affec¬ 
tion and moral feeling. Even as a girl she 
could profess passionate love for those from 
whom she expected profit and gain; but misfor¬ 
tune and death, even of those nearest her, would leave 
her quite unmoved. 

She was a perfect type of the modern adventuress. 
She could act well, and at times would shed tears 
profusely if she thought it the right thing at the 
moment. 

As she grew older her unrestrained coquetry threw 
her into the vicious adventurous circle of which Gor¬ 
don Gray was the master and moving spirit. She 
threw in her lot with him. On board a transatlantic 
liner on which she went for a trip to New York an 
officer fell a victim to her charms, and supplied her 


276 The Voice from the Void 

with money that was not his. His defalcations were 
discovered, and he committed suicide to escape dis¬ 
grace. 

That was the first unpleasant incident in her career 
after meeting Gray. There were many afterwards. 
She was a woman whose sole aim was to 
see and enjoy life. Without heart and without 
feeling, active, not passive in her love-making, 
she, like many another woman before her, aspired 
to power and influence over men, and many an honour¬ 
able career was wrecked by her, and much gain had 
gone into the joint pockets of Gordon Gray and her¬ 
self. 

Purcell Sandys had been ruined. She knew it, and 
laughed. 

She sat in Gray’s rooms in St. James’s smoking a 
cigarette before going to dine at a restaurant, and was 
discussing the situation. 

“ Really, my dear Gordon,” she said, puffing the 
smoke from her lips, “ you are wonderful! You have 
the whole affair in your hands. We shall both 
make a fortune over this concession. The 
whole thing is as easy as falling off a log, thanks to 
you.” 

“ It hasn’t been so easy as you think, my dear 
Freda, that I can assure you,” he replied. “ But I 
think we are now on a fair way towards bringing 
off our coup. The one great thing in our favour 
is old Homfray’s death. He knew far too much. At 
any moment he might have given us away. 
He was the one person in the whole world whom I 
feared.” 


The Sacrifice 


277 

“ And you were a fool to defy him by selling that 
petty bit of property at Totnes,” said the handsome 
woman. 

“ No, Freda, I wasn’t. I did it to prove that I 
defied him. When one man defies another it causes 
the defied to think. That is why I did it. I knew 
his secret—a secret that no parson could face 
in his own parish. And if he dared to say a 
word against me I should have told what I knew to the 
bishop.” 

“ Would the bishop have believed you?” 

“Of course. He had only to look up the date 
of the criminal trial, then old Horn fray, who knew 
so much of our little business, would have had 
to face the music. No, Freda, the old sky-pilot 
was too cute for us. He dared not face the 
music.” 

“But the girl, Elma Sandys? She’s a good sort 
3.nd—well, Gordon, I tell you, Fm a bit sorry for 
her.” 

“ Fm not. You and I will part for a bit, and Fll 
marry her. By so doing Fll gain a fortune, and then 
after a time Fll come back to you, old girl. I won’t 
desert you—I promise that! ” 

“ But would you really come back ? ” asked the 
woman, after a pause. 

The stout man put his big hand upon hers 
and, looking into her eyes, said, “ I swear it. 
We’ve been in tight corners before, Freda. 
Surely you can trust me in this—eh? It means 
big money for both of us, and no further worry 
for you.” 


278 The Voice from the Void 

“ I don’t know that I can trust you, Gor¬ 
don,” the woman said, looking him straight in the 
face. 

“Bah! you’re jealous of the girl!” And he 
laughed. “ She’s only a slip of a thing who doesn’t 
count.” 

“ But you’ve taken a fancy to her.” 

“ I have, and I mean to marry her. Nothing can 
prevent that.” 

“ I could,” snapped the woman. 

“ Yes. But you won’t, my dear Freda. If you did— 
well, you’d forgo all the money that will very soon be 
yours.” 

“ Arthur stands in with us.” 

Well, I suppose we shall have to give him a little 
bit. But he’ll have to be satisfied with a few hun¬ 
dreds.” 

“ He expects a quarter share.” 

“ He’ll have to go on expecting,” laughed her com¬ 
panion. “ ‘ Guinness ’ always expects more than he’s 
entitled to. It is a complaint of his.” 

“And if you married this girl, do you think you 
would be happy, Gordon ? ” 

“ Happy ? I’m not seeking happiness, my dear girl. 
I’m after money.” 

But can’t it be managed without your marriage to 
Elma ? ” 

“No, it can’t,” he declared. “That’s one of my 
conditions to old Sandys. Naturally the girl is think¬ 
ing of her lover. But she’ll soon see that 
he’s deceived her, and then she’ll learn to forget 
him.” ^ 


The Sacrifice 


279 

I doubt it. I know the temperament of young girls 
of Elma’s stamp.” 

“You’re jealous. I repeat!” he said with 
sarcasm. “Fancy! Your being jealous of Elma! 
Am I so good looking and such an Adonis— 
eh?” 

“You’re anything but that,” she replied sharply. 

But you see, Gordon, you’ve taught me never to 
trust a soul, not even yourself. And I don’t. Once 
you marry that girl you will become a rich man and 
try to shake me off. But ”—and a fierce expression 
showed in the woman’s eyes—“ but I’ll watch that you 
don’t. I can say a lot, remember.” 

“ And I can also,” the man laughed, with a careless 
air, “ but I won’t, and neither will you, my dear girl. 
Silence is best for both of us.” 

“ You can carry out the business without marrying 
Elma,” Freda urged. “ You have taken every pre¬ 
caution against accident, and the ruin of Sandys 
has made everything possible. What would Mr. 
Sandys say if he knew that the amiable Mr. Rex 
Rutherford was one of the men to whom Sir Charles 
Hornton lost that big sum at cards three nights before 
he killed himself ? ” 

Gray drew a long breath. 

“ Well,” he said with a bitter smile, “ I don’t sup¬ 
pose he’d feel very friendly towards me. But the driv¬ 
ing of Sir Charles into a corner was, I foresaw, one 
of the chief points in our game. Sandys is 
ruined, and I’m the good Samaritan who comes 
forward at the opportune moment and brings sal¬ 
vation.” 


28 o The Voice from the Void 


” Clever/’ declared the woman, devilish clever! 
But you always are, Gordon. You are won¬ 
derful.” 

“ In combination with yourself, my dear Freda. 
I’m no good without you,” he declared. “ So 
don’t exhibit these foolish fits of jealousy. I’ve 
made up my mind to marry Sandys’ daughter, for 
it will improve my prestige. When I’ve had 
enough of her, I shall simply leave her and we 
will rejoin forces again,” he added callously. And 
then together they went out to dine at the 
Ritz. 

That same evening Elma sat in her room, with the 
hazy London sunset fading over the Park, confused and 
wondering. 

Surely Roddy would not tell her a lie! She 
took out his scribbled note and re-read it, as she 
had done a dozen times before. It was a plain 
and straightforward assertion, and yet the man 
Rutherford had produced the concession granted 
to him, properly authenticated and officially 
sealed. 

Where was Roddy? Was it really possible, as 
Rutherford had suggested, that he was in hiding, 
not daring to come forward now that his lie was 
proved? She could not bring herself to believe it. 
And yet why had he so suddenly gone to Farncombe 
for one night and then taken train to Guildford and 
disappeared ? 

On the previous day she had been down to 
Guildford by train from Waterloo, and had made 
inquiries of the porters and in the booking-office 


The Sacrifice 


281 


and elsewhere regarding Roddy, whom one or 
two of the railway servants knew, but without 
avail. Roddy had been seen waiting out in the 
station-yard by a clerk in the parcel office. That 
was all the information she could gather. There¬ 
fore, after a cup of coffee at the tea-shop in the 
old-fashioned High Street, she had returned to 
London. 

That evening as she sat pondering, pale and nerv¬ 
ous, her maid came into her room and she roused her¬ 
self wearily. Then she put on a plain little black din¬ 
ner-frock and went downstairs to the dining-room, 
where her father, pale-faced and rather morose, 
awaited her. 

Hughes, surprised at his master’s sudden gravity, 
served the meal with his usual stateliness, begotten of 
long service with the Earl. 

With the footman and Hughes present father 
and daughter could exchange no confidences. 
So they hurried over their meal, and found 
relief when they were back in the library and 
alone. 

“ I’m utterly puzzled, dad,” declared the girl; 
“ I can get no news of Roddy. I’m certain 
that he would never write that letter and de¬ 
ceive me about the concession. It is his—I’m 
positive.” 

“ But, my dear child, how can it be ? I have 
read the translation of Rutherford’s concession. 
All is in order. It revokes any other permit that 
has ever been given. It is a firm and unassailable 
contract.” 


282 The Voice from the Void 


I don't care what it is,” declared the girl. “ Roddy 
would never deceive me. I know his father's death 
has greatly upset him, but he is still in possession of 
all his faculties.'' 

But his mental condition was bad, you will remem¬ 
ber,'' remarked her father. 

It was. But he is quite well again. I 
know he would never mislead me, dad!'' And 
she fondled Tweedles, who, barking for recog¬ 
nition, had placed his front paws upon her 
knees. 

Of course,'' said Mr. Sandys, humouring her, 

you love Roddy and, of course, believe in him. It 
is after all but natural, my child.'' 

“ Yes, dad. You know that I love him. He 
is so honest, so upright, so true, that I feel con¬ 
fident, though the evidence seems against him, 
that he has not told a lie. He is the victim of 
circumstances,'' the slim girl * said, as she stood 
before the fire with the little dog in her 
arms. 

“ But unfortunately, dear, he does not come for¬ 
ward,'' her father said. ‘‘ Is it not his place to be 
here after writing you that letter concerning the con¬ 
cession? If he had been granted it, surely he would 
have come direct to me with it! Homfray is no fool. 
He knows that I could develop the scheme in the 
City within a few hours. Therefore why is he not 
here ?'' 

“ He is prevented.'' 

How do we know that ? He may be prevented—or 
he may fear to come.'' 


The Sacrifice 283 

“ You are not generous towards him, dad,’' the 
girl protested. 

“ I’m generous, my dear—most generous,” re¬ 
plied the ruined man. ‘‘ I like Roddy Homfray. 
His poor father’s sudden death was, I fear, a great 
blow to him, and especially so as he has scarcely 
entirely recovered from that very strange adventure 
of his which narrowly cost him his life. But in 
the present circumstances we must face hard facts. 
He has written to you making an assertion which he 
has not substantiated, and which is disproved by the 
official document which Rex Rutherford has placed 
in my hands.” 

The girl* still confident in her lover’s hona fides, 
shook her head. 

‘‘ There will be ample explanation one day, dad. 
I’m certain of it,” she declared. I am indeed con¬ 
fident that Roddy has not written to me a deliberate 
lie.” 

Next day passed, but young Homfray made no 
sign. Again Elma telephoned to Farncombe, and 
yet again came the reply that her lover had not 
returned. His silence puzzled her greatly. Could it 
be really true that his concession only existed in his 
own imagination ? She loved him too well to 
think ill of him. Now that she was as poor as he 
was there could be no barrier to their marriage. 
Her magnificent home would be swept away, the 
Towers would be sold again, and her father made 
bankrupt. 

She was again standing alone at the window 
of her room looking across the Park, where 


284 The Voice from the Void 

the trees were clearly showing the autumn 
tints. 

Her face was pale and haggard, her clenched hands 
trembling. 

“ No, no! ” she whispered hoarsely. “ I alone can 
save dad from ruin and bankruptcy. I alone! And 
I must do it I ” 

That evening, just after Hughes had brought 
in the tea, her father being in the City, the old 
man reappeared saying that Mr. Rutherford had 
called. 

She held her breath, then, with an effort, she gave 
permission for him to be shown in. 

The stout, beady-eyed man, in perfect-fitting clothes 
and a dangling monocle, crossed the carpet, smiling, 
with hand outstretched. The girl asked him to 
be seated, and poured him out a cup of tea. Her 
thoughts were of Roddy, but she strove to crush 
them down. Her brain was awhirl, for she knew 
that only by her own sacrifice could her beloved father 
be saved. 

Presently, when they had chatted about other 
things, Rutherford returned to the point and 
bluntly asked whether she had reconsidered her 
decision. 

Yes, Mr. Rutherford, I have,” she replied very 
slowly in a deep, tense voice. “ You are prepared 
to assist my father under a certain condition. That 
I accept.” 

“Then you will marry me! ” he cried, 
with triumph in his eyes, as he jumped up 
and seized her hand. Then she felt his hot 


The Sacrifice 285 

breath upon her cheek and shrank from his 
emorace. 

When he left she went to her room and, lock¬ 
ing the door, gave way to another paroxysm of 
grief. 

At nine o’clock that night Rutherford called 
again and told Mr. Sandys of Elma’s accept¬ 
ance. 

The old man stood staggered. 

‘‘ Elma has done this for your sake, Mr. Sandys,” 
Rutherford said. “ And, after all, it is a mar¬ 
riage of convenience, as so many are. Both 
our positions will be improved by it, yours and mine, 
for this concession will mean big money to both 
of us.” 

Mr. Sandys could not reply. His thoughts held 
him speechless. Elma had sacrificed herself to save 
him from ruin! 

But where was Roddy Homfray? That was a 
problem which neither father nor daughter gould 
solve. 

Two days later Elma and her father went down 
to Farncombe Towers, Mr. Sandys having already 
taken preliminary steps for the purpose of floating 
the Emerald Mines of Morocco. There were rumours 
in the City concerning it, and a great deal of interest 
was being taken in the scheme in very influential 
quarters. 

Rex Rutherford had not before been to Farn¬ 
combe, therefore he was now invited. Now that 
old Norton Elomfray was dead he accepted, and spent 
most of the time rambling with Elma either in the 


286 The Voice from the Void 


gardens, the park, or the surrounding woods, 
though she did all in her power to avoid his loathsome 
caresses. 

Elma, unknown to Rutherford, managed to call 
at the Rectory. On inquiring of Mrs. Bentley 
regarding Roddy, the old woman explained that 
he had returned from abroad, slept one night there, 
and had gone out next day and had not come back. 
She knew that he had gone to Guildford, but that 
was all. 

“ And there’s been a young lady here wanting to 
see him, miss.” 

“ A young lady! Who ? ” 

She’s a Miss Manners.” 

** Miss Manners! ” Elma echoed. “ Describe 
her.” 

The woman did so, and Elma stood open- 
mouthed. 

“ She was here again three days ago,” Mrs. 
Bentley added. “ And she seems so eager to see Mr. 
Roddy.” 

‘‘ I must see Miss Manners,” Elma shouted to the 
deaf old woman. “ You have no idea where she lives, 
I suppose?” 

“ No. I think she comes from London.” 

‘‘Well, next time she comes let me know at 
once. Or better, bring her up to the Towers to 
see me. It is most important that I should see 
her.” 

Mrs. Bentley promised, and Elma, returning to 
the Towers, told her father of Edna’s reappearance. 
Old Mr. Sandys was equally surprised and equally 


The Sacrifice 


287 

eager to meet her. Where, they wondered, had 
she been all those months. He telephoned at once 
to the boarding-house in Powis Square, Bayswater, 
at which she had lived before her sudden disap¬ 
pearance, but could obtain no news of her where¬ 
abouts. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE UNKNOWN HAND 

What occurred at Guildford station on the morning 
when Roddy went to meet his friend Barclay by 
appointment was distinctly curious. 

Having spent nearly an hour on the Hog’s Back, 
experimenting with his new wireless receiving set, he 
packed it up, descended the hill to the station, and 
was on the platform when the train from Waterloo 
came in. 

Barclay, however, was not among the alighting 
passengers. 

There being another train a quarter of an hour later, 
he decided to await it, and strolled out into the station 
yard. He had just lit a cigarette and was gazing 
around when he noticed a big limousine car 
approach and draw up opposite the booking office. 
The chauffeur, descending, approached him, touched 
his cap, and said: 

^‘Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr. Homfray?” 

“ That’s my name,” Roddy replied. 

“ Oh, Mr. Barclay has sent me for you, sir. He’s 
at the Lion Hotel here. He’s got a business engage¬ 
ment, and is sorry he couldn’t come along.” 

“ Right,” answered the young man, crossing to the 
car, the windows of which were closed. The man 
opened the door politely and he entered, but as soon 

288 


The Unknown Hand 289 

asi he sat down he heard a strange hissing noise and 
felt a want of air. He gasped, his eyes burned, and 
the next second the darkness of unconsciousness fell 
upon him and he knew no more. The car had, in the 
seat, a bellows which, as he sat upon it, blew out a 
poisonous gas. Of what happened afterwards he had 
no knowledge. 

When slowly and painfully he regained his senses 
and became aware of his surroundings, he found him¬ 
self in a small bare room with a stone floor. He was 
lying upon some old sacking, while near by, close to 
the door, stood a plate that had evidently contained 
food and a broken brown jug with some water, while 
in close vicinity was his raincoat, which had apparently 
been flung into a corner. 

High up in the thick wall was a small window, not 
more than six inches square. There was no glass in 
it, so it gave both light and ventilation. 

He was too weak to move, and his hand, coming 
into contact with his chin, he was surprised to find 
that, though usually shaven, he had a growth of beard. 
Could he have lain there for some days in a state of 
semi-consciousness ? 

He shouted, but his voice was very weak. There 
was no response, though he strained his ears to 
listen. 

At once he realized that he had again fallen into a 
trap cunningly prepared for him. That message on 
the radio-telephone he should not have heeded. He 
had been a fool! Yet he had believed it to be genuine, 
because it had been relayed to him by a radio experi¬ 
menter whom he had known for many months. 


290 The Voice from the Void 

Probably Barclay was in ignorance of the whole affair, 
and was wondering what had become of him. 

And Elma! What would she think ? How was she 
faring ? 

His hollow, deep-set eyes wandered slowly around 
the bare stone chamber with its dusty beams hung with 
cobwebs, and its lime-washed walls. An odour of 
damp and mildew greeted his nostrils, while from out¬ 
side came the rustle of autumn leaves. 

He was somewhere out in the country. But 
where ? 

The empty plate and jug of water told their own 
tale. He was held there in bondage by his enemies! 
He could only surmise that during his period of un¬ 
consciousness his janitors—whoever they might be— 
had fed him, giving him just sufficient to keep body 
and soul together. Had his captors condemned him 
to death by starvation? It seemed that they had. He 
stared at the empty plate in horror. 

From the light in the narrow high-up window he 
judged the hour to be about noon. The autumn 
sky was blue and cloudless, and he could hear a 
sparrow twittering. What, he wondered, had hap¬ 
pened? All he could recall was his entering into the 
motor-car, the strange hissing noise and his sudden 
asphyxiation. He had evidently walked straight into 
a trap! 

Again and again he shouted, but only feebly, for 
he was very weak, and his brain seemed on fire. His 
thoughts were all confused. Yet ever and anon, 
through the mists, came flashes of remembrance of the 
past, with visions of Elma’s beautiful face looking 


The Unknown Hand 291 

inquiringly into his. His strange adventure in Welling 
Wood; his love for Elma, his meeting with Mr. 
Sandys, his father’s death, and his search in Normandy 
for the mysterious Miss Manners came before him. 
But his mental capacity was far from normal. When 
he reflected he became more than ever puzzled. 

One thing was plain. He was held by the 
enemy. 

In his nervous half-conscious state he fell 
asleep. How long he slept he had no idea. When 
he awoke, however, he felt refreshed. Dawn was 
spreading. He had been asleep for many hours. 

On the plate lay some tinned meat and some 
bread! The water jug had been refilled! Who¬ 
ever was his janitor was determined to keep him 
alive. 

With an effort he raised himself, but so weak 
was he that only by clutching at the wall did he 
succeed in reaching the jug, from which he drank 
deeply. 

Then he crawled around his stone prison with 
difficulty. He was hungry and ate some of the meat 
and bread. 

Afterwards he sat upon the sacks, weak, weary 
and with wandering brain, trying to locate his exact 
position. 

Suddenly, from outside, he heard voices—rough 
voices in the silence. 

“ Yes. Rotten! I call it! But I’m in for higher 
wages, and that’s a fact! Tom’s wages were rose 
this week,” were the words that broke in upon his 


ear. 


292 The Voice from the Void 

He raised himself and crawled to the little window, 
but, despite his struggles, could not reach it. It was 
far too high. He longed to look out upon the world 
and ascertain where he was. But that was impossible, 
and in his weak state he sank back again into uncon¬ 
sciousness. 

How long he remained he knew not. 

When he awoke, however, he found himself still 
beneath the little window. The plate and jug were 
there, just as he had left them. 

The rough voices of workers outside had passed 
in mystery. He ate the remaining portions of the 
food which was grudgingly given him by an unknown 
hand, drank some water, and then crossed to his rain¬ 
coat. In its pocket his cigar-box wireless receiving 
set still remained. 

Then he searched his other pockets, and to his sur¬ 
prise found that his captors had not taken anything. 
His wallet, with his visiting cards, and some money 
and other things were still there. 

“ Well,’^ he exclaimed aloud, this is all astounding. 
What fresh m}'Stery is there here? Who is it who 
feeds me when I am unconscious? And how silent 
it all is! Only the whispers of the leaves, and the 
twittering of birds. I am alone! ” 

Then after reflection he again spoke aloud to 
himself. 

“ What can Elma think of my silence ? I wrote 
to her telling her of my good fortune, and I have not 
seen her since. And again—the girl Manners! She 
reappeared at the Rectory after I had searched in 
France for her, and yet we have not met! Mr. Sandys 


The Unknown Hand 293 

told me that it was most important to him that her 
fate should be ascertained. I have discovered that 
she is actually alive, and yet I cannot confirm it. I 
cannot confirm anything—even my letter to Elma 
about the concession. God! ” he shouted in agony 
of mind. “What can I do? How shall I act?” 

Again he yelled for help, as he had done times 
without number. 

But all was silent. He was in a tomb. 

In a hazy way he recollected stories of the 
oubliettes of the Bastille and of the dreaded dun¬ 
geons of the Chateau of Loches. Here he was con¬ 
fined in a modern dungeon where, if the hand of his 
unseen janitor were withdrawn, he would die of 
hunger and thirst! 

Yes. His father’s enemies had indeed triumphed! 

All his fears were concentrated upon Elma. What 
was happening to the girl he loved so dearly? If 
he had fallen into the hands of his enemies, it was 
only to be supposed that she too—even though she 
were the daughter of the great financier—had shared 
the same fate. 

He recollected how his dead father had warned him 
against Freda Crisp and Gordon Gray. And yet he 
felt assured, when he examined his own conscience, 
that he had never to his knowledge harmed a living 
soul. He had been enthusiastic in his profession, 
travelling hither and thither in little known regions of 
the world prospecting for ore. It was his calling to 
do so. And now, on his return to England, he had 
suddenly fallen into one trap after another. 

Why? 


294 The Voice from the Void 

That was a problem which he tried to solve until, 
worried and angry, he once more sank upon the heap 
of old sacking and again fell asleep, quite exhausted 
in body and in mind. 

Two days followed—days of long vigil, eager listen¬ 
ing and a strangely dead silence. All he heard was 
the rustling of leaves and the glad song of the birds. 
By day he could hear the sparrow, the thrush and the 
robin, and at night the weird hooting of an owl and 
the scuttling of rats. 

His mind was slowly regaining its normal balance. 
He could think without that bursting sensation 
in his skull, yet the great mystery which over¬ 
whelmed him was the motive why he had been 
entrapped into captivity as some strange and dangerous 
animal. 

‘‘No doubt I am dangerous,” he said aloud to him¬ 
self on the second morning. “ Dangerous to those 
into whose hands I have now fallen—that vampire 
woman who is actually the friend of Elma! Gad! I 
can’t fathom it. The whole affair is quite beyond 
my comprehension. Why did my own father warn 
me of the pair? If he knew them as crooks, why did 
he not himself openly expose them—except—except 
—that ” 

And he paused, gazing fixedly up at the little 
window. 

“ Except—that—that perhaps the dear old dad 
dare not tell the truth 1 He may have had some 
secret I ” 

He walked slowly and with difficulty around that 
small stone chamber. His father had died without 



The Unknown Hand 295 

revealing to him the truth about Gray and the woman 
Crisp. Why? 

“ I wonder if Elma will believe me ? ” he said 
aloud, in a strange whisper which echoed weirdly 
around those lime-washed walls. Will she be¬ 
lieve that letter I wrote her regarding the Wad Su^ 
concession ? I should have told her so with my 
own lips, only—only at Park Lane that night I was 
not wanted. Elma was not at home. Oh! when 
shall I learn the truth of all this—when shall I 
be able to explain it all to Elma? When shall I see 
Barclay ? 

He was silent for some minutes. Then another 
mystery was the identity of the person who, being his 
janitor, supplied him with food. Two further days 
went by. When he slept, exhausted, his food was 
renewed—by whose hands ? 

As he grew stronger in those days since the 
recovery of his senses he had striven to reach the 
window and look out. But he had never been able 
to do so. The little window was fully eight feet above 
the floor and he had nothing to- mount upon to grip 
its ledge. Time after time he ran at it and sprang 
in the air, but in his weakened condition he always 
fell too short. 

So he gave it up as hopeless. Escape, he realized, 
was quite impossible. Yet where he was held captive 
he knew not. His enemies had taken all precautions. 
They were determined to hold him prisoner, apparently 
to gain time. 

Why? 

One day he had slept heavily all the morning, prob- 


296 The Voice from the Void 

ably snoring, as he knew he did, when he was awak¬ 
ened by a movement near him. He opened his eyes 
stealthily but made no sign. 

Before him, moving across the room, he saw the 
dim figure of a man in respectable black who carried 
in his hand a plate containing food. 

Suddenly the beam of light from the high window 
lit up his janitor’s face, and in an instant he 
recognized it as the countenance of a man he 
had seen in his dreams while he had been held 
prisoner at Willowden—it was, in fact, the old 
criminal who posed as Gray’s butler—the man 
Claribut. 

For a few seconds Roddy watched, and then 
with a sudden effort he sprang up and threw him¬ 
self upon the fellow at a second when his back was 
turned. 

‘‘ What the devil do you mean by keeping me 
here! ” he demanded, as he threw his arms around 
the man’s neck and attempted to throw him to the 
ground. 

Claribut, taken entirely off his guard, tried to throw 
off his assailant, uttering a fierce imprecation the while, 
but the pair were locked in a deadly embrace. Roddy, 
though young and athletic, was still too weak to over¬ 
come the old man’s defence. 

Around the narrow stone walls they reeled. The 
door stood open, and Roddy, with a frantic effort, 
tried to force Claribut towards it, but the old 
criminal, who had been very athletic in his time, 
always prevented him. 

Roddy, weakened and ill, fought for his life, and 


The Unknown Hand 297 

gradually succeeded in getting his opponent towards 
the door. He fell and rolled in the dust, but the 
young fellow would not release his hold. The 
open door was before him and he was determined to 
escape. 

‘ Twice he was near it and endeavoured to throw 
off his captor, but old Claribut always kept with 
him and held him by the throat until he was nearly 
choked. 

Roddy again struggled to his feet, and with both 
hands at Claribut’s throat at last had the advantage. 
He saw the man's face purple and his eyes starting. 
He was close to the door, and if he could only cast 
the choking man from him he could escape. 

He drew a long breath for a last frantic effort, but 
as he did so, Claribut, who had succeeded in drawing 
a lead-weighted life-preserver from his pocket, raised 
it and brought it down with crashing force upon the 
young man’s skull. 

And Roddy Homfray fell like a log upon the 
stones. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE DEATH-TRAP 

When Roddy again became conscious of his sur¬ 
roundings he found himself lying in a corner of the 
place, so weak that he was scarcely able to move his 
arms. His head was throbbing, and placing his hand 
upon it, he found himself suffering from a long scalp 
wound. 

He lay for quite an hour staring up at the plaster 
ceiling which was peeling after many years of neglect. 
He tried to recall what had occurred. 

Mistily he remembered his desperate fight for lib¬ 
erty, and how old Claribut had eventually clubbed him 
with a short, pliable life-preserver. 

It seemed to be again morning. His lips were 
parched, his throat contracted, and he felt feverish 
and ill. Water was there, and he managed to 
reach it. 

‘What can I do?’^ he cried faintly to himself. 

I must get out of this. I must! How many days 
have I been here, I wonder?'’ and again his hand 
felt his chin. The growth of beard had increased, and 
by it he knew that already he must have been there 
a week—or even more. 

For the hundredth time he gLnced at the heavy 
old door, and saw how a small panel had been sawn 
out near the bottom to admit the introduction of the 

298 


The Death-Trap 299 

plate and jug. The mysterious hand that fed him 
was that of the old man whom he recollected as having 
been at Willowden. Outwardly the old fellow seemed 

feeble, but he certainly was the reverse when put to 
the test. 

Roddy ambled across to where his raincoat lay 
upon the stones. In its pocket was the cigar-box, two 
coils of wire—aerial and ‘‘earth”—and the head¬ 
phones. He opened the box and, as far as he could 
discover, it was intact. But of what use was it? 

He sighed and slowly packed it back into the pocket 
of the coat, which afterwards he dropped back upon 
the spot whence he had picked it up. 

Suddenly he heard a footstep outside and the panel 
in the door was slid back, the grey evil face of old 
Claribut being revealed in the aperture. 

“ Hulloa! ” he exclaimed with a harsh laugh. “ So 
you’ve come to your senses again—eh ? I hope 
you liked what I gave you for attacking me, young 
man ? ” 

“ I only tried to escape,” was Roddy’s reply. 

“Well, that you won’t do,” the other laughed. 
“ You’ll never leave here alive. I’ll take good care 
of that.” 

“ Oh! We shall see,” replied Roddy, whose 
stout heart had not yet forsaken him. It was not 
the first time in his life that he had been in a 
tight corner, and after all he was ever optimistic. 
The only thing that troubled him was the wound in 
his head. 

“ You were useful once,” said the evil-faced old 


300 The Voice from the Void 

criminal. “ But now you are of no further use. Do 
you understand that ? 

“ Yes, I do; and no, I don’t,’' was Roddy’s defiant 
reply. 

“ Well, you’re only an encumbrance,” he said. 
“ And you’re young to die like a rat in a hole! ” 

“That’s very interesting,” Roddy remarked grimly. 
“ And who’s going to be my executioner, pray ? ” 

“ You’ll learn that in due course,” said his evil- 
faced janitor, who then opened the door after remov¬ 
ing two strong bars. 

Roddy instantly sprang at him, but he found 
himself so weak that he was as a child in Claribut’s 
hands. 

The old man seized him, and dragging him out 
roughly thrust him down some spiral stone stairs and 
into a stone chamber below the one in which he had 
been confined. It was about the same size and smelt 
damp and mouldy. The window, strongly barred, was 
as high up as the one in the chamber above. When 
he had bundled the helpless man down the stairs, with 
one hand, he took the raincoat and flung it into the 
chamber after him. 

All Roddy’s protests and struggles were useless. In 
his weak physical state, still more exhausted by loss 
of blood from his wound, he was helpless as a child, 
as Claribut flung him upon the damp shiny stones, 
saying with a laugh of triumph: 

You 11 stay there and die—now that you’re no 
longer wanted! ” 

Next second Roddy, lying where he had been flung, 
heard the door being bolted and barred. 


301 


The Death-Trap 

He was again alone! 

He raised himself slowly and painfully from the 
slimy stones and gazed around. The walls were green 
and damp and the place smelt muddy. 

Suddenly his eager ears caught the faint ripple of 
water. There was a river flowing outside! 

Again he listened. No longer could he hear 
Claribut^s footsteps, but only the low ripple as the 
water ran past beneath the window. He judged that 
the pavement upon which he stood was on a level with 
the river. 

But where was he? What was the nature of the 
place he was in—those strong stone walls that had 
probably stood there for centuries. In any case the 
intention of his enemies was that it should be his 
tomb! 

It was still morning—early morning he judged 
it to be. But suddenly as he stood there he saw 
that the clouds had darkened, and he heard the 
rain falling slowly upon the surface of the river 
outside. 

Gradually the stones upon which he stood became 
wetter. Water was oozing up from between the 
crevices everywhere. 

The river was rising. The ghastly truth all at once 
fell upon him, benumbing his senses. If the rain con¬ 
tinued to fall then the river would rise, and he would 
be drowned, as Claribut had prophesied—drowned like 
a rat in a hole! 

Realization of the situation held him rigid as a 
statue. 

For a few moments he was plunged into despair. 


302 The Voice from the Void 

Then suddenly a thought came to him. There was 
still a hundredth chance left. 

So taking out his pocket-book he scribbled an 
urgent message to Elma, stating that he was confined 
in some house beside the river, that the flood was 
rising, and telling her that he had with him liis new 
wireless receiver, asked her to speak to him, if 
she chanced to be at Farncombe. He urged her to 
hasten to his side. 

His handwriting was irregular, for his hand trem¬ 
bled as he wrote. But having finished it he took out 
a frayed but plain envelope, and addressed it: 
“ Urgent: Miss Elma Sandys, Farncombe Towers, 
near Haslemere.’’ 

Having placed the message inside, he sealed it, and 
managed, after many futile attempts, to toss it through 
the barred window. 

If it fell upon the face of the waters it might 
be picked up by some inquisitive person out boating 
or fishing. Yet he knew not what river was flowing 
by. He had an idea that it was the Thames, 
because on the previous day he had seen the brilliant 
flash of light blue as a kingfisher had sped past the 
window. 

The envelope fluttered from the window—a forlorn 
hope. 

From the crevices in the paving the water was still 
rising, even though the heavy shower had passed, and 
the sun was again shining. 

Feeling a trifle better and more hopeful, he again 
took out his wireless receiving set from the pocket of 
his discarded raincoat. Old Claribut evidently in- 


The Death-Trap 303 

tended that when the river overwhelmed him, and later 
he might be found dead, his coat should be with him. 
Had it been left above there might have been more 
serious suspicions of foul play. 

Claribut, as an old criminal, left nothing to 
chance. When Roddy Homfray died there should 
also be found his belongings. That was what he 
intended. 

The first fear which entered Roddy’s mind was that 
the dampness of the stones might have affected the 
sensitiveness of the set. Eagerly he commenced to 
string up his aerial to several old nails which he found 
in the wall above the height of his head. Then he 
put down an earth ” wire under one of the small 
stones in the wet floor, which he lifted for that 
purpose. 

After preparations which lasted ten minutes or so 
he held the cigar-box in his hand, and putting on the 
head-’phones listened and turned the condenser to 
receive waves of nine hundred metres. 

In a few moments his heart gave a bound. His set 
worked and the water had not injured it, for he heard 
the op>erator at the London aerodrome telephoning to 
an'aeroplane in flight towards Paris. 

Those words through the ether gave him renewed 
courage. His set was working! 

Would that he could hear Elma’s answering 
voice. 

The envelope had fluttered from the window, yet 
the only sound that reached him was the low lapping 
of the water and the songs of the birds. 

He listened to the daily traffic in the air, the Morse 


304 The Voice from the Void 

and telephony, all of which he knew so well. 
Yet he was unable to call for help. He could 
only listen—listen for Elma’s words of encourage¬ 
ment. 

But would she ever receive that message tossed 
at haphazard from that barred high-up window— 
tossed into the air or upon the water? Which he 
knew not. 

An hour later another sharp shower fell, and 
as it did so the water percolated through the floor 
until it was quite two inches deep. It was an 
ugly sign. 

Would Elma receive his message and come to his 
rescue ? 

At some moments he gave up the situation as 
hopeless. His father’s reluctance to tell him the 
truth concerning Gray and his accomplice, the 
woman Crisp who was actually on visiting terms 
with Mr. Sandys and his daughter, utterly puzzled 
him. He had trusted his father before all men, yet 
the poor old rector had died with his secret locked in 
his heart. 

A thousand conflicting thoughts arose within him, all 
weird, mysterious, inscrutable. Why should his own 
father have held back from him the truth? Why 
should Mr. Sandys demand from him the secret of his 
discovery of the girl in Welling Wood ? 

What connexion could - there be with the City mag¬ 
nate and the girl whom he had believed was dead, but 
who was certainly still alive? 

As the day faded the rain, which had ceased for an 
hour, again fell heavily, and in the dim grey light he 


The Death-Trap 305 

could see the water rising almost imperceptibly, until 
it had already reached his knees. 

He still listened intently, but though he heard a 
concert sent out from Marconi House, on four hundred 
metres, gay music which jarred upon the nerves of a 
doomed man, and also the voices of amateurs in the 
vicinity, yet no sound was there of Elma. 

Would she be able to get the transmission set 
to work? The thought caused him to hold his 
breath. Even if she received his message it might 
be too late if the rain continued and the river rose 
further! 

He recollected how, when at Mr. Sandys’ re¬ 
quest he obtained official permission and had 
erected the telephone transmission set, he had 
given Elma several lessons, in its working until 
once or twice she had spoken to him at the Rectory 
from the Towers and had once given him a gramo¬ 
phone selection. He knew that the exact filament 
current on the valves was necessary for clear speech. 
Would she remember the exact instructions he had 
given her? 

But after all he had merely cast his urgent appeal 
to the wind. He did not even know whether it had 
floated upon the water. Perhaps it might have been 
caught in a tree and would remain unseen until the 
paper rotted and dropped! 

Darkness fell, and the only sound that reached his 
living tomb was the low lapping of the waters, as 
slowly but surely they rose. 

There was no acknowledgment of his message. 
He held the receiver above the level of the waters 


3 o6 The Voice from the Void 

in breathless expectancy, knowing that if water 
entered the box its sensibility would at once be 
destroyed. 

A weather forecast was given out from the Air 
Ministry, followed by an amateur in London with 
bad modulation trying to call a fellow amateur in 
Liverpool, but no acknowledgment from the girl 
he loved and from whom he had been so rudely 
parted. 

Would she ever get his message of distress? His 
heart sank when he knew that the chance was so 
small. 

Truly his enemies held him powerless, and their 
intention was that he should either starve or 
drown! 

He had hoped against hope, until he, alas! 
gave up. 

The river was still rising and very soon the flood 
must engulf him! 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


A RACE FOR LIFE 

The day was a Saturday, and Elma’s wedding to Mr. 
Rex Rutherford was fixed for the following Friday. 
It was to take place at Little Famcombe Church. 
Rutherford had insisted upon it. 

Mr. Sandys was unaware that he was triumphant 
over poor old Homfray and his son, and it pleased 
him to think that they should be married in the 
village church where old Mr. Homfray had been 
rector. 

Elma and her father were at the Towers, and 
Rutherford had motored down to spend the day. 
He posed as the devoted lover, and really played 
the part quite well now that he and Freda under¬ 
stood each other. The woman was no longer 
jealous. He had given her an assurance to return 
to her. 

The pair, by Gray’s marriage to Elma, would 
reap a rich harvest at the expense of the poor girl’s 
happiness and future. With Roddy safely out of the 
way the road was laid open for complete conquest. 
The coup would be complete. 

The cold, cheerless day had been very showery, 
but Rutherford and Mr. Sandys had been out all 
the afternoon with their guns over some rough 

shooting towards Hindhead. 

307 


3 o8 The Voice from the Void 

At about five o’clock the neat maid Evans ascended 
to Elma’s room, saying: 

James says, miss, that there is a man in the kitchen 
who wants to see you personally.” 

What kind of man? ” asked the girl, surprised, she 
being at the moment before the mirror in the feminine 
act of powdering her face. 

James says he’s a respectable-looking working 
man, miss. He won’t see anybody but you.” 

‘‘ Then I suppose I must see him. Tell James 
to send him round to the hall. I wonder who 
he can be? Begging—a starving wife and family, I 
expect. Ah! our poor ex-service men,” she added 
with a sigh, “ they gallantly won the war for us, and 
now nobody wants them—alas! How very cruel the 
world is! ” 

A few minutes later she descended the wide oaken 
staircase and passing into the big, long-panelled hall, 
with its stained glass windows and its rows of 
old portraits, where a great wood fire burned, throw¬ 
ing out a sweet fragrance, she met a brown-bearded, 
burly-looking man in a faded blue suit, standing with 
his cap in his hand. 

'H’m sorry, miss, to worry you,” he said. “I 
hope you’ll forgive me. Are you Miss Elma 
Sandys ? ” 

“ I am.” 

‘'Well, miss,” said the rough fellow, “I’ve 
found this ’ere in the water. I work on a timber 
barge on the Thames and up the Wey. To-day 
I saw it a-floatin’ on the water not far from the old 
ruined mill near Old Woking, so I picks it up 


A Race for Life 


309 

out o* curiosity. It was unstuck, so I read the 
contents, and I come over ^ere by train as soon as 
I could.’^ 

And he handed her a damp letter written in pencil 
and sadly blurred by the water. 

Elma held her breath as she recognized the hand¬ 
writing, much of which was obliterated. 

She eagerly scanned the lines of writing, and her 
face went pale as death. 

After some words with the man, and he had 
given her certain directions, she managed to thank 
him, and gave him a pound note, for which he 
was very grateful. Then she rushed away to the 
room wherein was the wireless telephone-trans¬ 
mitter installed by Roddy. She turned the key 
in the door to be private, and at once sat down 
to the complicated-looking instruments into the 
intricacies of which her lover had already initiated 
her. She pulled over the switches so that the 
generator began to hum, and lit up the filaments 
of the two big electric globes. These she carefully 
adjusted till she had the exact current, and taking 
up the transmitting instrument she was about to 
speak. 

The handle of the door turned, and she heard 
Rutherford’s voice calling her. He had come in 
unexpectedly from shooting, and was motoring back to 
town before dinner. Forced to switch off the current, 
she sprang up and opened the door. 

** Hallo, Rex! I was just about to amuse 
myself with the wireless! ” she said in an affected 
tone of unconcern, as she joined him in the corridor 


310 The Voice from the Void 

and they walked together to the hall, where 
Hughes was ready to serve them in stately manner 
with tea. 

Her agony of mind may easily be imagined 
as she sat there in a low chair beside the log fire, 
and in pretence of being calm gave her father 
and her hated lover their tea-cups, while Rutherford 
was full of praise as to the amount of game that 
remained upon the pretty old-world English estate so 
near London. 

Elma was longing for the fellow to go. She 
was eager to dash back to the wireless-room and 
thence speak to her imprisoned lover. The whole 
situation held her breathless. Roddy was in 
deadly peril, and she alone could encourage and 
save him. 

Those moments were, to her, like hours. She 
thought to excuse herself and leave the two men 
together, but she feared lest Rutherford might 
follow her and overhear her voice on the radio¬ 
telephone. 

So she waited patiently till at last the man rose, 
and, placing one of his hot, hateful kisses upon her lips, 
strode out, promising to come down again on the 
following day if his urgent business concerning the 
concession would allow. 

The instant he had stepped into his car, Elma, in a 
few hurried words, told her father of the strange 
message from Roddy, and showed to him the half 
obliterated scribble. 

“ Speak to him at once, dear! ’’ cried Mr. Sandys 
excitedly. “What can it all mean?” 


A Race for Life 


311 

Together they hastened to the wireless-room, 
and very soon Elma had the set going, the gen¬ 
erator softly purring, and the valves lighted to 
their exact brilliancy for clear modulation of the 
human voice. 

Hulloa! Hulloa! Hulloa! ’’ she cried, repeat¬ 
ing her call six times. “Hulloa! 3.X.Q.! 

Hulloa, 3 .X.Q.! Can you hear me, 3 .X.Q.? 
This is Elma speaking—Elma speaking to 3.X.Q. 
All right. I-have-had-your-message-and-I-think-I- 
know-where-you-are! Hulloa, 3 .X.Q. I will in¬ 
vestigate at once! Hold on. Elma speaking. I 
will be with you very soon. 3.X.Q. 3.X.Q.! 

Elma-has-had-your-message. Listen 1 I will re¬ 
peat.'’ 

And in a clear voice she repeated what she had 
already said. 

Afterwards, knowing that her lover could not reply, 
she went out to meet her father who had already 
telephoned across to the chauffeur to get the car 
ready. Both father and daughter put on their 
hats and mackintoshes and hurried across the back 
premises to the big well-lit garage. On their way 
they met Telford, the second gardener. His master 
told him to get a couple of crowbars and axes and to 
come along. 

“ I want that axe you use for felling big trees,” he 
added. 

The man went to the tool-shed in wonder, and placed 
them in the car. 

Then all four set out in the rain upon a strange and 
exciting expedition. 


312 The Voice from the Void 

The note had been picked up not far from the ruined 
mill on the bank of the river Wey. From Roddy’s 
message it seemed to the girl that he must certainly 
be held prisoner within that old mill, so they 
drove away along the London road through 
Godaiming and Guildford until they found themselves 
at Woking Station. Then on inquiry, and after losing 
themselves three times on narrow, intricate roads, they 
at last came to the bank of the river, a tributary of 
the Thames, and presently found the dark walls of 
the half-ruined mill. 

On pulling up Elma shouted with all her might. 

“ Roddy! Roddy! ” 

There was no response. They saw in the darkness 
that the river was swollen and was running swiftly 
towards the Thames. 

Roddy! Roddy! ” the girl shouted again, 
whereupon at last there was a very faint response, 
deep down somewhere. All were silent for a few 
seconds. 

“By Gad!” cried Mr. Sandys, “he’s here! Yes. 
He’s here! ” 

The two servants got out the axes and crowbars 
and, aided by their master, attacked the heavy iron- 
bound door of the disused water-mill. At first it 
resisted them. It was of oak and centuries old, as was 
the stone structure itself. 

At last it yielded to the combined efforts of-all 
four. 

Inside they found a big, bare room of stone, where 
in the old days the sacks of corn were stored. Soon, 
having explored the place by the aid of two flash- 


A Race for Life 313 

lamps, and Elma calling constantly, Roddy’s voice 
directed them to the chamber below in which his 
captors had placed him with such evil intent. 

At last they descended a flight of winding stone 
steps, slippery with slime, but on reaching the last 
step they found the water to be high above their 
waists. 

“ Roddy! ” cried Elma breathlessly, “ are you 
there ? ” 

Yes, dear. I’m here! Try and open the door. 
But do be careful. The water is rising. It’s very 
deep now! ” was the faint reply. 

They could not see the fastenings of the door on 
account of the black flood, but after great difficulty, 
all four succeeded in forcing it open, whereupon 
Roddy, entirely exhausted in body and in mind and 
at the limit of his endurance, fell back into the girl’s 
ready arms. 

Elma’s voice from the void had given him 
courage, and his life had, after all, been saved by 
wireless! 

There is an old Spanish proverb which says, 
“ From poverty to wealth is the breadth of two 
hands: from wealth to poverty, the breadth of two 
fingers ”: 


De pobre d rico, dos palmos! 
De rico d pobre, dos dedos. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE COUP 

The world of Little Farncombe was agog, for though 
great secrecy had been preserved it became rumoured 
that Miss Elma Sandys was to be married to a rich 
American financier, Mr. Rex Rutherford. 

At the hour appointed for the ceremony the bride¬ 
groom, acompanied by his friend, Mr. Bertram 
Harrison—or Arthur Porter, to be exact—arrived 
at the crowded little church, but as the time 
went on and the bride did not arrive everyone began 
to whisper. 

What hitch could have occurred? 

Nearly an hour went by when Rutherford went 
out and telephoned to the Towers, only to receive 
an astounding reply from Purcell Sandys himself, 
who said: 

“ My daughter Elma was married to Roderick 
Homfray by special licence in London this morning, 
and they are already on their way to the Continent on 
their honeymoon.” 

The crook stood dumbfounded for a second. Then, 
uttering a shriek of rage, he banged down the receiver, 
called Harrison, and they both drove rapidly away in 
the car together. 

A trap for them had already been set, for as 
the car entered Haslemere four constables attempted 

314 


The Coup 315 

to hold it up. Gray, seeing’ this, drew a revolver, 
fired three shots indiscriminately and dashed 
past. 

Meanwhile Edna Manners was sitting with Mr. 
Sandys, whose ward she was, relating to him a very 
remarkable story. 

It concerned the death of her fiance, Hugh 
Willard. 

But,” she said, “ old Mr. Homfray was, as you 
know, a friend of poor Hugh, and he was the only 
man who knew that Gordon Gray—the scoundrel 
whom you knew as Rutherford—and his accom¬ 
plice, the woman Crisp, were the actual assassins. 
Mr. Homfray had called upon him in Hyde Park 
Square on the night of the crime, and was actually 
in the house and saw the deed committed! The 
woman held poor Hugh down while the man in¬ 
jected something into his scalp by means of a 
hypodermic syringe. But Mr. Homfray was too 
late to save him. I suspected that he was cognisant 
of these facts, but not until I had watched Freda 
Crisp enter the Rectory by stealth and listened in 
secret at the window and heard him threaten the 
woman with exposure did I know that he could 
clear up the mystery when he wished. But Gray 
held a secret of Mr. Homfray’s past. When I had 
learnt the truth I slipped away in the wood, but 
was overtaken by Gray himself, and the next I 
saw was a bright red flash and then I lapsed into 
semi-consciousness. I shouted to somebody to 
save me. I have just a faint recollection of some 
man bending over me, and then I knew no more 


3 i6 The Voice from the Void 

until my reason returned to me and I found 
myself living with the shoe-repairer and his wife in 
Bayeux.” 

“ Then it is quite clear that Mr. Homfray’s son 
discovered you, but Gray, believing that he had seen 
you attacked, also attacked him.” 

Yes,” said the girl. “ But there was evidently 
a yet deeper motive. Gray knew that the rector held 
the secret of poor Mr. Willard’s death and, I think, 
feared lest he had disclosed it to his son. Poor Mr. 
Homf ray died mysteriously. Perhaps they actually 
killed him.” 

“ To me it seems clear that the reason why 
young Homf ray was not killed outright was because, 
knowing of the impending concession, they watched 
their opportunity to obtain it,” said Mr. Sandys. 
'' Barclay received the very valuable plan of the 
mine, but it somehow fell into their hands,—a 
fact which was not discovered till a few days 
ago—and now I happily have it together with both 
concessions. At the hour of their triumph they 
confined Roddy in a place where they knew that a 
terrible death must sooner or later await him. Having 
swindled him out of his concession Gray hoped to 
marry Elma, first having cleverly entrapped Roddy and 
determined that the rising river should cause his 
death.” 


♦ ♦ * * ♦ 

Of this curious sequence of strange and exciting 
adventures there remains little more to relate, save 
to say that during the time that Roddy and Elma 


The Coup 317 

were on their quiet, delightful honeymoon in 
Switzerland, Mr. Sandys was busy at work on 
Roddy’s original concession, while Andrew Bar¬ 
clay left for Morocco in order to get the original 
concession confirmed by the Sultan himself—which 
was done. 

When the happy pair returned, they found that Mr. 
Sandys was well forward in the retrieving of his lost 
fortune, for two other commercial ventures which he 
had regarded as failures liad suddenly turned to be 
great successes—in one case a “boom.” Therefore 
there was now little cause for anxiety. 

A few months later Roddy and another expert engi¬ 
neer went out to the Wad Sus, and armed with the 
plan had but little difficulty in re-discovering the 
ancient workings, which were soon found to be ex¬ 
tremely rich in emeralds of the best dark-green colour. 
Within a year Roddy Homfray, not only reaching the 
zenith of his happiness with Elma, had also become 
a comparatively rich man. 

Of the criminals nothing was heard until about 
eight months after Elma’s marriage, when the 
Paris Surete discovered that Gray, Porter and the 
woman Crisp were living in a fine villa near Dinard, 
and arrested them for the assassination in Paris, three 
years previously, of old Monsieur Jules Gk>urnay, 
a banker living in the Avenue de Neuilly, whom the 
woman Crisp had previously robbed of a large sum of 
money. 

Of this crime in March last, after a delay of 
over a year, Gordon Gray, alias Rex Rutherford 
and other names, was found guilty by the Assize 


3 i8 The Voice from the Void 

Court of the Seine, held at Versailles, and duly sent 
to the guillotine, while both Porter and Freda Crisp 
were sent to penal servitude for life on the dreaded 
Devil’s Island,” while nothing has since been heard 
of old Claribut, though a warrant is still out for his 
arrest. 

All their cunningly devised schemes had been 
checkmated by “ The Voice from the Void.” 












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